Never Had
by Zee Viate
Summary: Someone's gunning for one of the team. Episodes aired since this story first posted have turned it AU.


**A/N: **I'm re-posting this because I want to move all my stories under one pen name. This was my first multi-chapter story, posted in 2009.

**Chapter 1: Chapter 1**

* * *

**Baseball**

Gibbs pulled into a parking spot and killed the ignition. When Tony went to reach for the passenger side door handle, Gibbs grabbed his sleeve to stop him.

"What position do you want for the tournament?" Gibbs asked.

"I didn't sign up, Boss."

"I know. What position do you want for the tournament?"

"I have a really full schedule the next couple weeks, I can't fit it in."

"I have a really weak lineup," Gibbs said. "You'll fit it in. The tryouts are over and I have to assign positions before we start practice. You weaseled out of it last year. This year, you're playing."

"I thought it was voluntary."

"It is voluntary. And, you will play."

Tony was silent.

"What's your problem, DiNozzo? You're the jock and it's for charity. You don't want the chance to showboat and help out a good cause?"

"I was a jock. Now, I'm an N.C.I.S. agent and baseball isn't part of the job description. And, I gotta wonder Boss, if it's the cause that you care so much about or the side bet you have with Fornell. You never should have let him talk you into giving him that point. You only beat them by one run last year."

"This year, we'll have you. Are you saying you can't knock a couple in? I know you still play basketball and football. You got something against baseball?"

"No, I don't have anything against baseball." He shrugged. "It's just been a long time since I played."

"Oh, okay. I get it. You suck at baseball. That's why you don't want to play."

"No, I don't suck at baseball. If I still played baseball, I would be very good at it."

"Sure you would. That's why it's the only sport you don't play, because you'd be so great at it."

"How does a .419 batting average sound? Pretty good, right? Or maybe great?"

"That depends. Who against?"

"That was my season average, including post-season, when I was twelve years old. The season that I made the district All-Stars and we won state. The season that, with us down by three with bases loaded at the bottom of the ninth and two outs, I hit the grand slam that won the game that sent my team to Williamsport."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "Williamsport? Little League World Series?"

"Exactly."

"How'd you do there?"

"I didn't make it there. The day before the team left for Pennsylvania, I broke my right arm. They lost in the first round."

Gibbs winced.

"Yeah," Tony said. "I should've checked the bike chain before I headed down that hill."

"How many times did you break that arm?"

"Just the once. And, once was way more than enough, considering the timing."

"So, which was it-did you fall off a bike or fall out of a tree?"

Tony hesitated a couple seconds before answering. "I just told you-bike."

"When Ducky x-rayed it a few years ago, after you and a perp took a tumble down a ravine, you said tree."

"Did I?"

Gibbs nodded.

"Now that you mention it, I do remember the autopsy x-ray session."

"You just forgot how you broke your arm."

"Well, it was a very long time ago. And, it's fine now so it doesn't really matter how it got broken because it's not broken anymore. But, whenever anybody hears you broke your arm, they always ask how. Always. That's why I told you how I broke it, because I knew you'd ask. Except, in your case you wouldn't have asked because I'd already answered the question years ago. With the wrong answer. Maybe I hit my head rolling down the hill and wasn't thinking straight when I said tree. I'm sticking with choice B, bike, final answer."

Gibbs watched Tony a few seconds before Tony looked away. When Gibbs began speaking, Tony turned back to face him.

"Bottom of the ninth, down by three, two outs, bases loaded and you hit the grand slam that put you in the Series."

Tony nodded.

"Wow," Gibbs said.

"Wow?" Tony grinned. "I didn't think wow was in your vocabulary."

"Not much rates a wow. But, that does. I wish I could've been there to see it, Tony."

"Me too, Boss."

They were silent a few seconds then Gibb smiled and lightly whacked Tony's arm with the back of his hand.

"Come on, we got work to do." When he reached for the door handle, Tony grabbed his sleeve to stop him.

"About the tournament..."

Gibbs shrugged. "If you're busy, you're-"

"I want shortstop."

* * *

**Never Had **

Randy Archer poured another shot of Maker's Mark into the crystal highball, nestled contentedly into the three down pillows arranged behind his back and sighed. He could get used to this. He already had. Yesterday, the fact that the money would run out and he'd have to leave all this behind had dampened the experience some. Keyword 'had'-past tense. Today was a new day, things were different. He smiled and stroked the top of the notebook computer he'd just closed.

The Internet was a wonderful thing. Randy had bought the laptop for the porn. But, he'd discovered another, more constructive reason to surf the web-it was full of answers to all kinds of questions. When he'd accepted the assignment, there had seemed a vague familiarity to the surname, one he couldn't place. So, he'd googled and soon realized why the name was familiar. That part had been easy, spelled out in every entry on the first page of search results. He'd had to dig deeper to find the answer to his second question. And, that was the answer that mattered.

Odds were, the name was only coincidence, no relation to the target. There was no mention on any official site, but, when he clicked through to a Wikipedia bio he found the connection. Randall Archer began to search in earnest, hoping to stumble across a goldmine. Randy followed link after link, carefully examining every image until he hit the jackpot.

He had found the man who'd hired him and his name wasn't Harry Silva. It was David Delvechio. Harry Silva had said the hit was revenge for a brother falsely accused and killed in prison. Randy, after his research, decided Delvechio had lied about his motivation just as he had his name. Randy was only mildly curious as to the real reason Delvechio wanted the man dead. Motivation didn't matter to Randy. All that mattered was the money. What he now knew gave him the leverage to renegotiate for a lot more cash upfront. And, after the deed was done, the potential for an income source for a long time to come.

It had been hard to get Delvechio to the phone. Men in his position didn't just answer calls from strangers. David Delvechio had people. People to answer his phone and act as a buffer and they refused to put him on without proper screening. Archer, after being handed off four times, had settled for leaving a message. It was personal and urgent, an emergency call from his old friend Randy in D.C. Randy smiled imagining the look on Delvechio's face when he'd received the message. He certainly hadn't sounded happy when he'd returned his call. But, Randy had been very happy at that call's conclusion. And, Randy, at David Delvechio's expense, had every intention of staying happy from here on out. To accentuate the point, he ordered a sixty five dollar steak dinner from room service. He smiled and took a sip of bourbon. This was only the beginning.

* * *

Gibbs exited the N.C.I.S. building, deliberately not holding the door for DiNozzo who was following behind him, speaking. DiNozzo made a quick stop to avoid running into the closing door, recovered, pulled the door open and hurried to catch up and walk beside Gibbs, resuming the one sided conversation.

"You do see my point, right Boss? You agree with me."

It had been a long day for Gibbs and it seemed he still wasn't through dealing with N.C.I.S. business, it had followed him out the door. Tony had had a disagreement with Special Agent McIntyre and had, unfortunately, turned to his immediate superior to settle the dispute.

"Seriously," Tony said, "it's no contest. John McClane has it all over Martin Riggs. Don't get me wrong, Lethal Weapon's a great action flick, I love it. Mel's got the tormented psycho vibe down pat; he's great and Murtaugh's a great partner. Which is an unfair advantage because who doesn't love the whole buddy cop dynamic. I know I do."

"See, that's the beauty of McClane," Tony continued, "He carries it. He carries it without a partner. Admittedly, he does have a great villain, maybe the best action movie villain ever. And, maybe kinda-sorta a buddy in the fat cop. But, not really. So, you need to take Murtaugh out of the equation before you answer. We're judging only on the merits of the action hero himself, not the movie overall. And, you do need to keep Mel's do in mind, because that's part of the actual character. That should deduct points right there. No action hero should ever have a fluffy mullet. It's worse than Seagal's pony tail. McClane, in spite of existing in the exact same big hair era as Riggs, had a real man's haircut, practically a marine cut. McIntyre only loves Riggs so much because she wants to be him. That's why she's still wearing a bad imitation of his bad eighties do in 2008."

"DiNozzo..." Gibbs warned.

"I'm judging her hairstyle, boss, not her lifestyle. Seeing as how you're our own resident action hero, we agreed to let you decide. And, I know you're gonna choose McClane. Just the 'yipee-ki-yay' should seal the deal, never mind the-" Tony suddenly stopped walking. "Shit."

"What?" Gibbs asked. He turned to see Tony looking towards his car. There were only a few cars scattered across that section of the parking lot this time of night. One of those few was parked in the spot next to Tony's. A woman stood by the car, looking their way.

"Who's that?" Gibbs asked.

"Nobody, boss."

"She a figment of both our imaginations? What's going on?"

"Nothing. She just..." Tony shrugged. "I'll see you in the morning." Tony turned and walked away before Gibbs could respond.

Gibbs watched as Tony walked across the lot and reached his car. Tony looked as if he'd only ignore the woman as he pulled the keys from his pocket, his back to her. But, she said something, something Gibbs could only see, not hear from the distance, and Tony reacted. He reacted with an anger that surprised Gibbs. He might not be able to hear Tony's words, but the anger was evident in his posture and gestures. The man had previously endured both devious and inventive retribution from unhappy ex lovers with less temper than Gibbs saw now. This wasn't playing out as the woman scorned scenario Gibbs had first assumed. Concerned, he began to walk towards them. Before he'd covered half the distance, Tony yanked open his car door, got in and drove away. The woman glanced once at Gibbs before following suit. Gibbs watched her drive out of sight then pulled a notepad from his jacket pocket. After writing a couple of lines, he walked to his own car and headed home.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Chapter 2**

* * *

Two days later Gibbs, from his desk, glanced at Tony. His senior field agent was delivering a rant, to no one in particular and anyone within earshot, about the lack of jalapeños on his just delivered nachos. DiNozzo was never hesitant expressing his displeasure. DiNozzo was least shy about expressing anything, anywhere, than most anyone Gibbs had ever known. But, intense and unadulterated anger-rage-was rare. That rage directed towards a woman even rarer.

That was why, even before Tony's jalapeño tirade, Gibbs had sat there distracted from the file open before him, still wondering what had prompted Tony's rage in the parking lot. He hadn't bothered asking Tony. Tony had made it plain that night that he didn't want to discuss it. Without a viable reason, Gibbs had no excuse to force himself into the man's private life. Gibbs had been six months with Maureen without mentioning, much less introducing, her to his obviously curious team. A fact Tony would no doubt dredge up to counter any inquiries as to his own love life. Gibbs knew it would be like pulling teeth to extract from Tony answers he didn't want to give. For a man who so often ran his mouth in overdrive, he could be surprisingly closemouthed and evasive on some subjects.

If it had only been Tony acting out of character, Gibbs wouldn't have been so concerned. Acting out was a big part of Tony's character. He could switch personas on a dime, playing whatever role suited his situation. What gnawed at Gibbs wasn't so much what he'd witnessed; it was more what he felt.

He had had Abby run the woman's plates and check her history, confidentially, with the excuse he was doing a background check on a potential stalker of an acquaintance. Joanna Davis had graduated from the Columbia School of Journalism and had relocated twice in the four years since graduation. She was settled now in Virginia, managing editor of a newspaper that served a small town outside Fredericksburg. Her sheet was clean, no priors.

There was nothing at all in her background to suggest she posed any threat whatsoever to Tony. Nothing to explain Gibbs's feeling of dread that had begun that night in the parking lot and strengthened since. Gibbs closed the file on his desk. He was done wasting time worrying. If invading Tony's privacy was what it took to settle his gut, then Tony's privacy was about to be invaded whether Tony liked it or not. He was about to pull him away from his nachos and into the elevator to force the truth out of him when his phone rang. He answered, listened then hung up and called out. "Gear up!"

The park ranger had briefed them before they'd made their way to the crime scene. It was a problem area, wilderness party central for the local high schoolers and college kids and an isolated lovers lane for all manner of trysts. No official park trails led to the clearing. But users had, over the years, forged their own rough path to the glen. They'd walked that path a hundred yards on foot to reach the scene. The mile prior to that had been taken in the ranger's Jeep, the N.C.I.S. truck left behind. The dirt road had been rough before they switched vehicles and deteriorated further the closer they came to the scene. The Jeep had barely squeezed between the brush and saplings that edged the wide trail, bucking like a bronco over washouts and forest debris. Gibbs was happier than usual to finally reach their destination and have a first look at their victim.

It looked like that victim, young Ensign Allan Rodriguez according to his dog tags, had died partying rather than loving. Embers still glowed in the remains of a bonfire. Multiple brands of beer cans and cigarette butts littered the clearing along with fast food wrappers and paper and plastic cups. Draped over a fallen tree trunk, situated as a bench, was a blue sweatshirt. Standing by it was a still half full bottle of Wild Turkey. Both abandoned items were evidence the party had broken up hastily, probably at the shot that had ended Rodriguez's life.

One of the revelers had had enough of a conscience, hours after they'd escaped the scene, to make the anonymous call to 911. But, only to say there was a body there. They'd hung up giving no information as to the killer or circumstances of death. As Gibbs surveyed the scene, he wished Ziva were with them. He hadn't looked for a sub since she'd be back day after tomorrow. If he'd known the area would be so littered with potential evidence, he would have tried to find extra help, if only to bag and tag. Any individual piece of garbage could hold the killers prints or DNA. And, there was a lot of garbage.

They were an hour into the process of photographing, collecting and labeling when Tony, once again, broke a short lived silence.

"Boss, you'll be happy to hear Agent McIntyre and I finally found something we could agree on. We both picked Mary Ann."

McGee paused writing on an evidence bag to look Tony's way. "Really, Tony?" McGee's tone had a trace of sarcasm under the curiosity. "I'd have pegged you as a Ginger man."

"Nah," Tony answered. "Too high maintenance. Plus, Ginger comes across as a bit of the old tease-all show and no go. They never gave Mary Ann a chance to shine. Fix her hair, a little makeup, the right clothes-"

Gibbs didn't look up from his notepad as he spoke, cutting Tony off. "What I'd be happy to hear, DiNoz-"

The notepad went flying as Gibbs threw his arm out trying to break his fall as he was shoved violently back by a blow to his chest. As he hit the ground he heard a choked gasp and looked up towards the sound. He saw Tony on his way down, dropping to his knees beside Gibbs. Tony turned to look at him a split second before falling forward, face-first, beside him.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Chapter 3**

* * *

McGee had a headache and McGee missed Ziva. The headache was due to a combination of eyestrain, stress, lack of sleep, a UA muse and Tony. Tim had been up way too late last night trying to negotiate the latest chapter of his new book. The publisher was breathing down his neck and his fans were clamoring and a deadline was looming and his attempts to appease them had been an exercise in futility.

Ordinarily, he wouldn't have welcomed the drawn out monotony of processing a crime scene such as this. But, this morning, it presented an opportunity to work both his jobs simultaneously. As he gathered and marked the evidence strewn across the clearing, he'd been arranging and rearranging words and sentences in his mind hoping they'd kick start the creative process and help him resolve the stubborn chapter.

Twice, he'd felt on the verge of a breakthrough, the resolution just beyond his grasp. And, twice, Tony had showed up, derailing Tim's thought process with his inane observations, insults and ramblings. DiNozzo's irritant effect was magnified today by Tim's desire to be left alone to his efforts and Ziva's absence. Without Ziva there to absorb the excess Tonyness, it was all on Tim and doubly annoying. And, now, Tony was headed his way again. Tim deliberately turned his back when DiNozzo neared. Tony ignored Tim's body language and came beside him to speak.

"A man got mauled by a bear in this park a few weeks ago," Tony said. "Black bear attacks are still very rare, but they're picking up. Global warming or something."

"Global warming?" Tim said, rolling his eyes. He'd been determined not to engage in another pointless exchange, but that was enough to suck him in against his will. "How about encroachment on their habitat and careless storage and disposal of foodstuffs."

"Foodstuffs?" Tony took a brief timeout to mock Tim's choice of words before continuing. "So, okay, maybe Cheetos and garbage are part of the problem. But overheating can't do much for their disposition, now, can it? I bet there're lots of bears in these woods. One could come charging out any minute. No grizzlies, though. If it were grizzlies, you wouldn't need to worry."

"I'm not worried, Tony."

"With grizzlies you play dead, that's the proper defense against a grizzly. Since you'd fall into a dead faint at the sight, you'd be fine. If a black bear charges, your defense is intimidation. You gotta go big and bad and menacing. You'd be a black bear's McBearburger."

"Do you mind? I have a headache and I'm trying to work here."

"Well, excuse me for trying to alert my fellow agent to a possible threat."

McGee patted the SIG on his hip. "I'm covered, Tony. Loaded for bear, okay? Go away."

"Fine." Tony scowled at him and walked away.

Tim watched him walk away, relieved. He could get back to his literary efforts. And, he did try to get back to his literary efforts. But, his efforts didn't lead where he'd hoped. The scene he was working on refused to cooperate. After a while, the intended scenario got away from him and implausibly morphed into an excessively steamy love scene between Amy and Agent McGregor that was too distracting to imagine while working. He finally abandoned the mental writing attempt; the frustration was only making his headache worse. He cleared his mind, let it go and turned his focus to only the work at hand. The very boring work at hand. After enduring fifteen minutes of the requested solitude, Tim took a collecting course that wandered Tony's way.

DiNozzo was working near Gibbs. Tim came to stand a few yards away, at Gibbs other side. He reached down for a paper cup, bagged it and began to write on the bag.

"Boss," Tony said, " You'll be happy to hear Agent McIntyre and I finally found something we could agree on. We both picked Mary Ann."

Tim had never known Tony to gravitate towards the wholesome, girl-next-door type.

"Really, Tony? I'd have pegged you as a Ginger man."

"Nah, too high maintenance. Plus, Ginger comes across as a bit of the old tease-all show and no go. They never gave Mary Ann a chance to shine. Fix her hair, a little makeup, the right clothes-"

"What I'd be happy to hear, DiNoz-"

Gibbs was cut off mid-word, flung backwards and off his feet when Tony whirled and threw a powerhouse broad arm strike across his chest. Tim's jaw dropped. Disbelief had barely registered before it was confounded less than a second later when Tony made a strange noise, dropped to his knees then fell forward. Just as he hit the ground, he cried out. McGee heard the pain in Tony's voice then a heartbeat later realized the word.

"Shooter!"

* * *

**Chapter 4: Chapter 4**

* * *

Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. Tim silently self-instructed, hanging on, trying not to telegraph his terror to Tony. He hadn't panicked earlier. He had reacted immediately as Gibbs grabbed Tony to drag him behind the shelter of the fallen tree trunk. He'd drawn his weapon and covered them, walking backwards, aiming aimlessly at the the forest's perimeter at the unheard and unseen shooter. Tony had been handed off to him, Tim's jacket pressed over the entrance wound, Gibbs' over the exit. Gibbs had pulled out his phone to call for help. Tim was kneeling, holding Tony awkwardly cradled, his hands pressing the makeshift field dressings against Tony's chest and back. When blood saturated Gibbs' jacket and began to seep over his fingers, Tim had swallowed hard, fighting not bring up his breakfast. Still, he hadn't panicked.

"Don't puke on me, Probie."

It had made him feel better, for just a minute, that familiar harassment in the surreal situation. Tony may lay bleeding in his arms, but he was still being Tony. Then Tony had gone quiet. Silent outside pained breathing. Breathing that became more labored and ragged as each minute passed. When he felt the thick, sticky dampness soak through his pants to his knees, Tim looked down. The red dirt had turned to purple mud.

When he realized he was kneeling in a pool of Tony's blood, that's when panic threatened. He had thought the bleeding was under control, hadn't seen it continue to run beneath Tony's jacket, down his back to the ground. He couldn't press any harder over the wounds and Tony was still bleeding. Tony could bleed to death there in his arms and there was nothing more he could do to stop it. He looked up, trying to catch Gibbs' eye, get him off the phone and over to help Tony. He was on the verge of calling out to him when he closed the phone and looked their way. The look on Gibbs' face almost undid Tim's effort to maintain control. It was almost the same, so understated but still awful, grief stricken expression Gibbs had worn as they'd approached the charred hull of Tony's Mustang. This wasn't something the boss could fix. The blood scared Gibbs as much as it scared him.

"Boss?"

The emotion in Tony's voice jarred loose scattered memories. This was not real, Tim told himself, just a nightmare. He, Tony and Gibbs were only the cast in a bad movie as he slept. They were acting out the cliché, the last query of the wounded, the same question worded different ways in so many movies. Tony's question was only one word but as emphatic and obvious as any more eloquently scripted question could be.

The cowboy, the soldier, the cop asks the buddy, the Sergeant, the partner. How bad? Will I make it? Am I going to die? The buddy, the Sergeant, the partner lies and reassures them they're going to be fine. They were all, always, without exception, death scenes. Tony, no doubt, could recite particulars from a hundred different films. Tim himself had seen at least a hundred variations. But, Tim couldn't bear to watch this one. He looked away from Gibbs' face as he waited for him to answer. Gibbs didn't follow the script, though. Gibbs was pissed.

"You should've dropped!"

Gibbs' sudden and unexpected anger rattled Tim. Tim looked from Gibbs' face to Tony's, feeling very uncharacteristically protective of his wounded teammate. He couldn't believe that Gibbs was yelling at Tony as he lay there hurt and bleeding, maybe dying. Maybe dying in Gibbs' place. But, Tony seemed unfazed by the anger. He was looking up at Gibbs, looking for his answer. After a few seconds, he half smiled and spoke.

"Did drop, Boss. Hard."

"McGee!"

Gibbs' voice jerked Tim from the forest clearing to the cab of the truck. He turned to Gibbs, but Gibbs only looked at him a second before turning his gaze back to the road. Back in the present, Tim realized he was breathing too fast, edging towards hyperventilation. That must have been what caught Gibbs' attention, caused him to send a 'snap out of it' call to Tim. It was the only word Gibbs had spoken since they'd begun the drive back to headquarters.

Tim took a deep breath and forced the following breaths to come slow and easy. He glanced over at Gibbs, but he was watching the road with the same grim expression he'd had the last nine hours. If he was reliving the morning, he gave no outward signs. Tim placed his hands on his knees, tightened his grip and tried to think of something besides today. He thought of Abby. The first thing he'd do, once they reached home base, he would find Abby. No, not the first. First, he'd hit the showers. Get out of the borrowed coveralls and wash away Tony's blood that was dried underneath, caked and pulling at his skin.

He'd shower, change, take just a brief respite with Abby then get straight to the case. They hadn't left the scene empty handed, they had evidence to process and leads to follow. Unfortunately, Tony hadn't been able to tell them much. He'd seen the sun on the barrel and silencer, that's all. Twelve o'clock from where they'd stood. No description of the shooter, just a movement from behind a tree and the glint of light on metal.

It had been obvious Tony was hurting bad and fading fast. He'd barely managed to get out the last few words. Gibbs had placed a palm along the side of Tony's face and said "Hang on, help's coming." He'd hesitated a few seconds, slid his hand down to squeeze Tony's shoulder. Then, he'd stood and left. He had walked away and left Tim alone with Tony. Tim had stared after him, wanting to call him back. Tim knew Tony would have wanted Gibbs there at the end. Tony would rather have Gibbs yelling at him than Tim kneeling there at a loss for words. But, Gibbs walked away to the spot where Tony fell, looking, visually tracking the trajectory of the bullet that had ripped through Tony. Tony had said twelve o'clock and Gibbs headed that way.

All indications then were that the shooter had run after that one shot. He would have had a clear shot at Tim as walked backwards to the fallen tree. He could have circled the clearing and attacked them as they tended Tony. But, the copter wouldn't land until the area was officially declared cleared. From overhearing Gibbs on the phone, he'd known they had five armed rangers due to arrive soon and the nearest local LEOs who'd arrive too late. Gibbs had directed three of the rangers to approach from the east, where the shots had been fired. The other two, including the ranger who'd driven them here, would enter the same way they'd come, from the west. When they met in the clearing, Gibbs would declare the area cleared and stand guard for the helicopter to touch down for Tony. Fortunately, the rangers ETA was before the helicopter's.

A minute after Gibbs left them, Tony's head had dropped, his chin to his chest. Tim had held his breath until he could feel Tony still breathing. It had seemed to take forever as Tim held Tony unconscious and waiting for help to come. But, finally, the helicopter landed in the clearing and they came to take Tony from him. Shortly after, came the worst moment of an awful morning. It was one he'd spent the time waiting praying for. The worst moment was watching the helicopter clear the trees and move out of sight, knowing that he had likely seen Tony alive for the last time, he'd never talk to him again. That thought hit him so much harder than he would have believed possible as he'd stood there, less than an hour earlier, turning his back on Tony and wishing he'd go away leave him alone.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Chapter 5**

* * *

The overwhelming need to take action had driven Gibbs since Tony had fallen beside him. He wanted to take that action against whoever had hurt Tony. But, first he had to find whoever had hurt Tony. His relentless search for clues to that end had gone on unabated through the day and night and continued into the next day's early morning hours leading him to this present dead end.

He had been on a single-minded hunt when the search began that morning. To find the slug, the bullet that might have killed Tony. Fuller's team was on its way to the crime scene. Fuller was a good leader and had a good team, second only to Gibbs'. That's what made it all the more imperative that Gibbs found the slug first. He had made it clear to McGee that finding the bullet was their one and only concern. Gibbs already had the casing, he had found it shortly before Tony's evacuation. Two hours later, he had the slug.

It was a .38 caliber hollow point, the jagged, mushroomed end encrusted with Tony's tissue and blood. Gibbs had placed it in an evidence bag, put the bag in his pocket, then called Ducky. Mallard had been over an hour behind them that morning leaving for the crime scene. Gibbs had diverted him to the hospital so he could be there when Tony arrived, so that Gibbs could know he had arrived alive and have information on his condition. He had made arrangements for the backup M.E. to come to transport the body to the morgue. Tony was in surgery when Gibbs called Ducky away from the hospital to begin the autopsy on Rodriguez. Ducky couldn't help Tony from the hospital, but he could gather information to help confirm what Gibbs suspected. As soon as he hung up on Mallard, he had motioned McGee over. Gibbs had left the crime scene without a word to anyone and led McGee back to the response truck.

They'd worked their way towards and through the small, touristy village of shops and motels on the outskirts of the park. They stopped anytime there was a building door to knock on or a person out and about to question. They got their first lead two and a half hours into the effort from a gas station attendant who'd seen a blue Camry speed by earlier in the day. It wasn't the only car that had caught his attention, but it was the only suspicious vehicle that fit the time frame. They'd first backtracked then moved forward past that point, searching for any blue Camry. There had been two in the vicinity. One parked in front of a souvenir shop that belonged to a woman in the process of checking out when they'd entered the store. The other in a motel parking lot whose plates, when checked, came back as belonging to a stolen vehicle.

They were following the wrecker carrying the Camry back to headquarters when Ducky called with confirmation of what Gibbs had suspected. It would have made their job a helluva lot easier if the two shootings were related. But, Gibbs had known there wasn't much chance a psycho woodsman had waited around after killing Rodriguez to take a shot at them. The very low odds dropped to almost nil when Ducky told him that a .40 caliber bullet had killed Rodriguez. His murder wouldn't be hard to solve, there had been too many witnesses. The anonymous tip had come from a hall phone on a Georgetown campus and eventually one of the students would cave. Alcohol, drugs, sex-one or any combination of the three would likely prove to be the catalyst. Fuller's closure rate would rise a notch.

Gibbs didn't care about the Ensign's murder, it was all Fuller's. But, Tony's was all his. The most important thing wasn't that the bastard be caught. The most important thing was that Gibbs be the one to catch him. He had the slug, he most likely had the getaway car and he had Abby. He might be forced to share information, but he would have it first.

If Vance tried to pull some bullshit, it wouldn't matter. If he decided Gibbs was too close to the case to investigate, if he feared Gibbs would mete out justice on his own terms and tried to remove him from the case-it didn't matter. Gibbs would find him. They were saying Tony could make it. Odds were against him, but he still had a chance. If Tony lived, they could have the shooter. If Tony died, the man was his.

He couldn't bring him to justice. Justice was when you balanced the scales and made things right and justice was very rarely possible. He was after retribution, an eye for an eye. Gibbs knew from past experience retribution was over rated. Closure was a word someone invented out of a need to pretend such a thing existed. He had thought that killing the man who'd killed Shannon and Kelly would settle something, ease something. It hadn't. There had been the very brief instant of blazing, bitter gratification as his shot hit home. Then after that-nothing. He'd been left with less than before.

If Gibbs killed the man, it wouldn't be to make himself feel better. He knew what would be left behind once he lost the purpose and the drive and the temporary buffer between yesterday and the rest of his life. Tony would still be dead. Gibbs would be left with the rage and the pain and with nothing left he could do about it and no action left to take but live with it. Retribution was still as necessary as breathing, though, and he wouldn't rest until it was his. When all of the evidence was being processed and all leads had been followed as far as possible for the time being, Gibbs had reached further to find any excuse to keep going. For any diversion from the fact that Tony may lay dying from a bullet meant for him. He'd found one and headed out.

The badge meant he could indulge himself past polite hours. It had been1:45am when he'd knocked on Joanna Davis' door. And now, he was driving back towards D.C. at 3:00 am with a large kraft envelope full of information that was no help at all. Inside it were both answers and questions. But, none pertaining to the case at hand. Unless he wanted to fore go logic to rearrange and stretch things way past their breaking point in an effort to make them fit. And, as desperate as he was for answers, he wasn't ready to go that far. Yet.

Davis had collected and packaged the pages, insisting that he take them. He'd hesitated a second before accepting the envelope. She had her reasons for wanting him to read the contents. And, he would read them, for reasons different than she hoped. But, he knew there was one person who would rather he didn't.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Chapter 6**

* * *

It was 3:45 am when Gibbs coerced his way into five minutes at DiNozzo's side in ICU. Gibbs had last seen Tony as Tim held him waiting for the helicopter to arrive. He looked worse now than then. Pale and still and...weak. The ventilator proved he was too weak to even breathe on his own. Tony was strong, though, a lot stronger than most people gave him credit for. He was strong enough to pull through and he would.

Gibbs placed a palm against Tony's shoulder. The skin felt too cool. Tony looked and felt like a faded version of himself. But, Tony was strong and Gibbs knew he'd never give in until he'd given it all he had. He reached to grasp Tony's hand in his own, tightened his grip and leaned his face down close to Tony's ear before speaking.

"Fight, Tony. Fight."

* * *

Tim had hesitated a second before punching the computer key that would enter and disperse the BOLO. He had tried to call Gibbs with the good news that a felon was tied to the Camry and let him know he was about to put out an alert. But, Gibbs had his phone turned off. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have considered contacting Gibbs before taking such an obvious action as putting out an APB on a possible suspect. But, these weren't normal circumstances.

Tim was already uneasy about Gibbs' instructions for creatively storing and lag time sharing any information they gathered. This was supposed to be a joint investigation with Fuller's team with full cooperation and disclosure. The most important thing was that the perp be caught, not that Gibbs be the one to catch him. As much as he wanted Tony's shooter apprehended, he wasn't sure he wanted to be present to witness the apprehension if Gibbs was the apprehender. Especially if, God forbid, Tony died. Too many iffy scenarios went through his head imagining Gibbs confronting Tony's shooter. The worst one had Tim being forced to choose between lying under oath or helping send the boss to prison.

Just past 3:00am, Tim had crashed on the futon in Abby's lab after he'd finished helping her process the car. They'd practically dismantled the Camry in an effort to find prints and evidence. At 5:45am, he'd been startled awake by a shriek and opened his eyes to see Abby in the middle of a series of arm pumping victory stomps. They had a hit.

Randall James Archer had left a single print on a quarter found under the car's driver's seat. He was a greasy, weaselly type. Caucasian, forty seven years old , with a long rap sheet. There were loads of arrests but only two convictions that resulted in prison stays past jail time served-one for assault and battery and the other for robbery. All of his criminal activities had been recorded in the northeast, primarily New York.

Tim had run the name through Gibbs' case files with no hits. He assumed the man had been after the boss since Tony had been shot in the process of protecting Gibbs. But, with rule number eight in mind, he'd begun trying to check Archer against Tony's old case files. That was no easy task since, prior to NCIS, Tony's work history was so scattered. Tim knew that, although Tony had grown up in New York state, he had never worked law enforcement there. Neither had Gibbs. Archer didn't seem to have committed any crimes in any of the areas they had worked. It was looking very unlikely that either Tony or Gibbs had ever professionally crossed Archer's path.

It was now 7:30am and Gibbs still hadn't shown up at the bullpen or turned on his phone. While there was no guarantee Archer was tied to Tony's shooting, he was their first solid lead. The boss would want the information ASAP. Plus, Tim didn't want to be here if Vance came by to ask again, as he had last night, if there was any news on the case. He gathered up data and photos, shoved the sheets into a folder and headed out. After checking Gibbs' house, he drove towards Bethesda.

* * *

Tim was walking to the ICU entrance when he passed that department's waiting room and caught sight of Gibbs. He was asleep on a too short vinyl sofa with his feet propped over the metal armrest. Tim started to go to him then turned back. He hit the buzzer, spoke to someone behind the doors and was allowed to enter.

Tim went to stand before Tony's treatment module. A pretty young nurse was adjusting an iv line. Seeing DiNozzo lying there lifeless was made even worse by her presence. She magnified the contrast between typical Tony and Tony now. Typical Tony would be making inappropriate-

"You got something?"

Tim's thought was interrupted by Gibbs, suddenly standing a couple of feet to his side. Tim nodded.

"We got a hit from the car."

Gibbs pulled the file folder from underneath Tim's arm and opened it to look inside.

"I put out a BOLO with instructions to contact you personally, by name."

Gibbs nodded. He was still looking down at the contents of the folder as he began walking for the exit, leaving without once glancing in Tony's direction. Tim hesitated long enough to silently urge Tony to hang on and pull through. Then he followed Gibbs out the door.

* * *

**Chapter 7: Chapter**

* * *

"Hello." Tim answered his phone.

"McGee, tell Gibbs to turn on his phone."

Ziva was supposed to be on a plane scheduled to land at Dulles in nine hours. Gibbs had given Tim her flight number and told him to go to the airport to meet her and tell her about Tony.

"Are you in the air?" Tim asked.

"No, I am not in the air. My departure has been postponed. My father will call Vance. Is Gibbs nearby?"

"No."

"I cannot say when I can return. A week, perhaps more. It is a national security matter and my presence is necessary. I have to stay until the matter is resolved. Please tell Gibbs and ask him to call me."

"Okay."

"I hope to see you soon, then. Good-"

"Wait," Tim stopped her.

"What?"

"Tony's hurt."

"How?"

"At a crime scene. He was shot. He's, uh,... he's in pretty bad shape."

"He is awake?"

"No. Not since before they took him in, about twenty-four hours ago. It was a through and through, upper left chest. They fixed things in surgery, but he lost a lot of blood. He's hanging in there, but..."

For several seconds, neither spoke.

"You will call me if..." Ziva paused. "When he wakes?"

"I'll call you if there's any change."

* * *

Gibbs hadn't been happy to hear Ziva would be away. But, he'd rather it be now than later when there would be, he hoped, more leads to follow. The remainder of his team had spent the day gathering any and all available information on Randall Archer.

He hadn't had a bank account in seven years. His last known employer was a delivery company he'd quit two years ago, as soon as his latest parole was served. His employment during his free years had been sparse and sporadic his whole life, he'd spent more time off work than in. Gibbs had spoken to his parole officer. Even with his crushing case overload, the officer recalled Archer as impressing him as an especially cold son of a bitch, colder than his jacket indicated. His file, though, only noted crimes he'd been arrested for, not all the crimes he may have committed.

He'd also spent his whole life, as far as they could tell, in New York with a few criminal excursions into New England. The man left no digital or paper trails. They had only arrest records to track him by. His fingerprint on a quarter in Virginia was the only evidence he'd ever ventured south of the New York state line. The Camry had never been north of Pennsylvania and the owner, when showed a mug shot, denied ever seeing Archer. That helped make the case that Archer had been in the car the day Tony was shot and not at an earlier time.

It looked as if Archer had come to Virginia for the purpose of firing that shot. The question was, who had he intended to shoot and why? Gibbs was the more likely target due to a larger potential pool of enemies. But, Archer and Tony shared the same state growing up. When Tony woke up, he could tell them if he'd ever run into Archer. Until then, they could only hope for a hit on the BOLO.

Since there was nothing more he could do at the squadroom for the time being, Gibbs was headed home. He'd shower and change and figure out a further course of action when he was done. Before starting his car, he called the hospital to check on Tony's condition. He was bouyed to hear they'd removed the ventilator. He asked to speak to Tony's doctor, but he wasn't available. Gibbs hadn't spoken to him since Tony had begun treatment. All he really knew was that Tony had been very bad but was now, apparently, better. Ducky was keeping tabs and could explain things to him in terms he'd understand. He'd make a side stop at his friend's before heading home.

Mallard welcomed him inside and ushered him immediately to the dining room sideboard to pour them both a drink.

"Tony's breathing on his own now," Gibbs said.

"Yes, I heard."

Gibbs would have hoped to hear more enthusiasm and relief in Ducky's response.

"That's good, right? He's getting better?"

Mallard handed Gibbs a tumbler with two fingers of bourbon and urged him, with a nudge of the glass, to have a drink and waited until he had before he answered.

"It's an improvement, to be sure. But, I'm afraid it's no guarantee of anything else. There's still the risk of infection or setback in general due to his weakened state. The blood loss is a real concern due to possible oxygen deprivation to the brain. He could make a full recovery. He could wake with diminished capacity, he could live but never truly wake again or he could die. While I'm certainly hopeful and, knowing Anthony and his proclivity to beat the odds, do expect him to pull through, you should know that the odds are most likely against him surviving. The odds against him waking entirely intact and himself are longer still."

The thought of Tony waking not himself, his brain damaged, was almost as bad as the thought of him dying. Awful as it was in itself, it was made even worse by the fact that he'd put himself there protecting Gibbs.

"He should have dropped, dammit! If he'd-"

"Nonsense!" Ducky cut him off. "You demean him if you would expect anything less of him. If he dies, he'll die as he lived and he wouldn't have it any other way and neither would I and nor should you. If he dies, you won't honor his memory by wallowing in guilt and regret. You'd honor his memory with gratitude and a wholly justified pride that you had a substantial hand in guiding him to become the man he is."

Ducky's chin was up, he'd accept no argument, so Gibbs let it go. But, there was nothing Mallard could say that would make it acceptable that Tony died in his place.

They were silent a few seconds before Ducky refreshed Jethro's drink and spoke again.

"Did you bother with his father?"

Gibbs took a sip and shook his head.

"I learned my lesson the last time."

Gibbs had tried to contact DiNozzo's stated next of kin, a cousin with an Irish surname supposedly living in California, when Tony had the plague. The phone number had changed hands two years prior and the man who answered had no idea where to reach Tony's cousin. Gibbs had set Abby on finding him and she had. He was living in Oregon but, they were told by his fiancée, he was mountain climbing in Nepal and unreachable for the next week.

Tony's file listed his mother as deceased and his father as 'estranged'. Gibbs was, at that time, what could be labeled as estranged from his own father. It was a word that covered a lot of ground. Could mean anything from wouldn't piss on them if they were on fire to not talking only because it had been so long since they'd talked they didn't know how to begin again. Estranged or not, if Gibbs' father had been lying with only a fifteen percent chance of survival, he would damn well want to be notified. He'd have moved heaven and earth to get to him, any past transgressions set aside.

With that in mind, he had tried to contact Tony's father. The attempt ended thirty minutes later with his cell phone impacting the wall with enough force to separate the flip top from the base.

After Tony was past the worst of his bout with the plague, Gibbs had completed a personnel form with all information copied from Tony's existing sheet on file. Except for the next of kin space where he'd written his own name. He'd taken it to the hospital and handed it to Tony.

"The phone number for your cousin's wrong. You need to get the right one. When you do, let me know. Until then, there has to be someone reachable listed."

Tony had read Gibbs' name there, glanced up at Gibbs quickly then away then signed without comment. Now, years later, it had remained undiscussed and Gibbs name remained as next of kin. It still pissed him off every time he thought about it. Tony deserved better.

"All the twisted bastards in the world," Gibbs said, "that break their family's hearts over and over again and they never give up on them. How the hell does Tony end up with nobody?"

"Nonsense." Mallard repeated the word, this time with a smile. "He has a number of somebodies who care for him, one in particular. It's entirely fitting you're listed as his next of kin. You've undoubtedly been more of a father to him than that imbecile listed on his birth certificate ever was."

Father? Gibbs thought. Hardly. He remembered,when he'd claimed himself as Tony's next of kin, the question calling for his relationship to the subject. He'd left it blank, unable to come up with an appropriate answer. He knew how it felt to be a father, he had memories from a different lifetime. Hugs and kisses, the sound of giggles and chatter, lullabies and bedtime stories, the scent of crayons and pencil shavings at the kitchen table. A love so pure in its depth and so fierce in its protectiveness he wouldn't have imagined it possible until he'd felt it. He'd never feel it again. Fatherhood was buried in Kelly's coffin.

Gibbs shook his head and took a drink. Ducky smiled in the face of Gibbs' denial.

"Granted, Jethro, it may be your own unique, rough approximation of the norm. But, no less genuine."

He did have the 'rough' part right, Gibbs thought. He was harder on DiNozzo than on anyone else but himself. Tighter with praise and looser with the gibes and head swats. Tony needed more reining in than most, though. He couldn't rely on his usual method to keep him in line since intimidation didn't work on Tony.

When they'd first met, DiNozzo had been drinking and screwing his way through life, unappreciated and job hopping aimlessly with no purpose past solving that day's case. Gibbs was damned if he'd let him continue down that path, burn out and waste himself that way. He'd seen the potential buried underneath the extraneous bullshit. Intelligence and ability no one else, not even Tony, realized. Courage equal to any other man's he'd met.

He'd taken him on and worked on him like a personal project. It had worked out well. It had worked out so damned well that Tony could be lying in his deathbed this very minute. Gibbs took a deep breath followed by a deep swig of bourbon.

He should have left him in Baltimore.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Chapter 8**

* * *

Gibbs smelled coffee. He opened his eyes and found the source sideways. A gold banded, white porcelain cup on a saucer that sat beside a glass of water on a silver serving tray resting atop glossy mahogany. He sat up on the couch, took and downed the water then reached for the coffee cup. He remembered moving to the den. Then, a steady drone of Ducky's stories and a steady flow of liquor poured by Ducky's hand. He looked over to Mallard who sat across from him in an easy chair.

"You did that on purpose," Gibbs said.

"Guilty as charged," Ducky smiled. "You're no good to Tony dead on your feet."

"What'd you put in the drink?"

"Only an exceptionally smooth bourbon by the name of Corner Creek. The fact that you succumbed so easily proves you were in dire need of rest. Along with the fact that once you were down you stayed down twelve hours."

"Twelve hours!"

Ducky ignored his exclamation as he resumed speaking.

"I managed to talk to the attending physician. They become more guardedly hopeful with each passing hour. There's no sign of infection. He's breathing well on his own with supplemental oxygen via a nasal cannula."

"What about...?" Gibbs tapped his temple with an index finger.

"There's no way to tell until he's conscious. They're working towards that goal now. They've cleared his system of sedation and-"

Ducky was interrupted by the ringing of Gibbs' cellphone. Gibbs glanced before answering to to see McGee's name on caller id.

"Yeah."

"Boss... it's Tony, he's, uh...he's..."

Gibbs froze on hearing McGee's distressed stammering. He stayed silent waiting to hear what Tony was.

* * *

It was 7:30 am when Tim stepped off the elevator and headed for the ICU. He stopped on the way to look into the waiting room. It was empty except for a curved form of red and black on one end of the pale olive couch. Abby's arms were over the armrest, her head rested on her arms, her eyes closed. Tim smiled. Then, he turned towards the ICU entrance, took a deep breath and pressed the buzzer.

Tim stood beside DiNozzo's bed looking down at him. After a minute, he glanced over both shoulders then covered one of Tony's hands with his own.

Tony groaned and Tim leaned over the bed rail and moved his hand up to grip Tony's wrist. "Tony?"

His eyes opened.

"Hey." Tony looked towards Tim's voice and Tim smiled.

"How're you doing?" Tim asked. When Tony only stared up at him with no response and no sign of recognition, Tim's smile wavered.

"Tony?"

Tony's body arched suddenly and violently, startling Tim. He let go of Tony's wrist and stepped back. Tim paled when Tony began to scream, a series of strangled cries and what sounded like words but weren't. Tony's body began to twist and writhe in the bed. Tim placed one hand on Tony's chest and grabbed Tony's arm with the other, trying to keep his injured side still.

"Tony! Stop!" Tim's order had no effect. A nurse brushed by him holding a syringe. She pushed its contents into an IV injection port. Within seconds, Tony fell still and silent again.

Tim left the room and reached for his phone.

* * *

"Jethro, this was just his first brush with consciousness. It's not a true indication of his eventual mental state. He was disoriented, in intense pain, weak. Still under the lingering aftereffect of all the drugs previously pumped through his system."

Mallard grimaced, bracing himself with a hand against the dash, as Gibbs screeched around a corner.

"Major Mallory, the steeliest of our regimental officers, awakened from a general anesthetic after an appendectomy in tears because Father Christmas hadn't left the pony he'd hoped for. The mind can be fogged under ideal circumstances and Tony's are extreme."

Gibbs accelerated down the expressway on-ramp and merged by whipping the car into a three car lengths gap between a pickup and a semi.

"Jethro! While I refuse to allow you to hold yourself responsible for Anthony's predicament, if you break my neck on the way there, you may wallow at will!"

They made it to the hospital in record time. When they entered the ICU waiting room, Tim looked their way. He was on the couch with an arm around Abby, her face against his shoulder. Gibbs didn't acknowledge the two, only hesitating long enough to grab a chair. Ducky followed as he carried the chair through the doors into ICU. Gibbs walked to Tony's space, put the chair beside the bed and sat, his expression and body language daring anyone to object.

When a nurse came from behind the nurse's station and headed Gibbs' way, Ducky moved to block her path.

"I assure you, he'll be much less bother if you let him stay."

"But-"

"I see Dr. Kiley's on the floor," Ducky interrupted, looking past her down the corridor. "I'm a physician; Agent DiNozzo's doctor. Just give me a moment to confer with Dr. Kiley. I'm sure I can persuade him it's the best medicine for them both."

Twenty minutes after Gibbs began his vigil, Tony stirred. He mumbled incomplete and disjointed words then moved his right hand to claw against the wound's dressing. Gibbs caught the hand and held it as Tony weakly fought to free himself from his grip.

"Whoa Tony, easy Tony, shh, it's okay, shh. I'm here, it's okay, I'm here."

Tony gave no indication he heard and, in less than thirty seconds, he was still again.

"Hey, DiNozzo, come on." He tapped Tony's shoulder. "Wake up."

Gibbs tightened his grasp on Tony's hand. "Tony..."

He watched Tony for another minute before he sighed and let go and leaned back. He twisted in the chair, turning to the module's back wall and leaned his forehead into his hand, his face hidden.

* * *

Almost an hour later, Ducky walked in to hand Gibbs a cup of coffee.

"Anything?" Ducky asked.

"A while back, he made some noise. He never opened his eyes and what he said didn't make sense. I don't-"

Gibbs stopped speaking, turning to Tony as the subject of his concern once again made noise, murmuring unintelligible words. When he began to reach towards his wound, Ducky took hold of his arm. Tony's eyes opened and Mallard gave his arm a gentle shake.

"Anthony, do you hear me?"

Tony looked towards Ducky.

"Anthony, can you speak? Can you tell me my name?"

Tony blinked and continued staring up at Mallard.

"Anthony-"

"Ducky?"

"Very good. What is your date of birth?"

"Birthday?"

"Yes."

"July 3rd, 1972."

"Well done. Can you tell me who was assassinated in Dallas in 1963?"

"Huh?"

"Who was assassinated in Dallas in 1963?"

"Kennedy."

"Excellent. Now, can you tell me-"

"Lincoln, 1865. No more questions. Hurts..."

Mallard adjusted an IV line. Soon, Tony's face and body began to relax.

"Better?" Ducky asked.

"Better," Tony answered.

Gibbs stood and leaned over the bed into Tony's line of vision.

"Ask me how I'm feeling."

"Hey, Boss."

"I have a bruise, clear across my chest. Every time I move it hurts and really pisses me off."

"Pay him no mind," Ducky said patting Tony's arm. "He's been beside himself. Distress has sapped the gratitude right out of him and made a considerable dent in his charm."

Tony half smiled. "Dented..." His eyes closed and he was out.

* * *

**Chapter 9: Chapter 9**

* * *

Three days later, Mallard stood in Tony's hospital room after doing damage control at the nurse's station.

"It was a compliment," Tony said. "I don't know why she got so upset."

"Those type compliments are best reserved for young ladies of an intimate acquaintance, Tony."

"Well, the sponge bath was getting pretty intimate, Ducky."

"I explained to them that it was the change in your medication that caused the change in your behavior; that you have an atypical reaction to some pain relievers. Tomorrow, you will apologize to nurse Kristen. And, until it's entirely out of your system, only male nurses for you, young man."

Tony frowned. "That's no fair! And, they better keep their sponges away from me."

"And, we have another name to add to the list of analgesics that must be kept away from you."

"You know what's a good pain reliever?" Tony asked. "Jose."

"Jose?"

"He is a friend of mine..." Tony sang.

"Is he a good friend?" Ducky asked, smiling.

"Oh yeah, the best. Nothing like a little cactus sucking to make it all better."

Ducky's eyebrows raised as he stared down at DiNozzo. After a few seconds, Tony squinted up at him.

"Why did you quit talking? You never quit talking."

"Cactus sucking, Anthony?"

"Well, you couldn't actually suck a cactus because of all the sticky things. It's actually the cactus juice you suck. Drink. Shoot it, actually. After they fix it up, all through the tubes and dripping and everything."

"Oooorrr," Tony smiled, drawing out the word, "Maybe there's this one huge, hollow cactus. And, inside are all these little Cuervo elves that don't waste the magic making cookies."

"You're talking about tequila," Ducky said, just realizing.

"And, they wouldn't wear those smurfy hats, they'd be wearing sombreros. And, Jennifer Lopez would-"

"Tony," Ducky interrupted. "The source of tequila, the agave plant, isn't at all a member of the cacti family. That's a common misconception. It is, however, very closely related to the lily. So, you could more appropriately metaphorize by saying, perhaps, that you kissed the lily."

"Smooched the frog's thingamadoodle," Tony said grinning. Then he frowned. "That didn't sound right."

"I thought you were a sake bomber."

"Yeah, sake bombing's for fun."

"And, tequila's for...?"

"To forget things you don't want to remember."

"Do you have a lot to forget?"

Tony started to answer then stopped and squinted up at Mallard.

"You're getting kinda nosy there, aren't you Dr. Ducky?" He pointed up at him. "You're trying to get me to tell secrets."

"I didn't mean to be intrusive and I certainly wouldn't push you to say anything you weren't comfortable sharing. Sometimes, though, talking about painful memories can ease their hold."

Tony shook his head and rolled his eyes before speaking.

"Well, round five or round six , I forgot what I came to forget." He paused to look accusingly up at Mallard. "Oprah."

"Oprah?"

Tony looked towards the voice coming from the doorway and grinned a huge grin.

"Boss!"

Gibbs walked to the side of the bed and Tony threw his right arm up towards Gibbs.

"Hey Boss!"

Gibbs raised his eyebrows and looked sidelong to Ducky.

"He's having a rather pronounced reaction to a synthetic opioid." Ducky said.

"Oh," Gibbs said. He smiled and leaned forward, allowing Tony to throw his arm around his shoulders and draw him into a half embrace. Gibbs reached to give the hand on his bicep a couple pats before straightening.

"You loopy, DiNozzo?"

"No."

* * *

Two days later, Tony was released from the hospital and had taken up residence at Gibbs' home. He was under strict orders to rest until he could regain his strength. His movements were confined to paths between the bed, couch and bathroom. A visiting nurse dropped by daily and the house was under surveillance anytime Gibbs wasn't home. Forty eight hours after Tony had moved in, Gibbs got some good news and some bad news.

A hit on the BOLO on Randall Archer was the good news. The fact that Archer was three days dead was the bad news. He had a license in the name of James Randolph. When that proved false, fingerprints had returned his true identity. Gibbs went to Metro PD to arrange transfer of jurisdiction and evidence.

Gibbs stowed the evidence in his car trunk, got behind the wheel and opened the folder to read over the reports. Archer had spent eleven days in the $425 a night suite at the hotel. No visitors that anyone had noticed. Though, obviously, he'd had at least one. The autopsy had been performed by the Metro PD coroner. Cause of death was a blow by a blunt object. Archer's skull had been fractured by a bourbon bottle.

There were no messages or inquiries or any incoming or outgoing calls through the hotel switchboard. Metro PD had released the scene back to the hotel the night before Gibbs was alerted and it had already been cleaned. Archer had paid cash totaling over $6000 during his stay at the hotel.

In the room's safe were $8790 in cash and a .38 caliber Smith and Wesson revolver fitted with a silencer. All signs said Tony's shooter was on a slab in the DC coroner's morgue. But, they also said it didn't end with Archer.

Neither he nor Tony had any connection to the shooter and there was no reason for him to want either of them dead. Archer, who'd never previously had a pot to piss in, was flush with cash in a nice hotel way outside his normal stalking grounds. All indications were he'd come into a recent windfall, proceeds from a paid hit.

While Archer had planned to kill, it looked as if his own homicide had been more spur of the moment. Liquor bottles weren't a typical assassin's weapon of choice. They were more a grab and swing without premeditation type weapon.

Gibbs glanced at the crime scene photos before flipping through the evidence list. Two things caught his eye. The ac cord to a laptop computer minus the computer itself and a throwaway phone that had been found underneath the body. Gibbs searched through the folder until he found the list of phone numbers dialed from the phone. None fit the possible time frame of the murder. All were made at least twenty four hours prior. There were calls to a pizza parlor, an escort service and several to Paradigm Investments. The first to the general switchboard, the last to the office of David Delvechio.

**A/N:** In the US, for about the last forty years, Keebler brand products have run animated commercials featuring elves that live in a hollow tree and make cookies with magic. I thought I 'd mention that after I realized the first part of this chapter would make even less sense if you weren't familiar with the Keebler elves.

Songs Tony sings and quotes snippets of:

Jose Cuervo by Shelly West

Ten Rounds (with Jose Cuervo) by Tracy Byrd

* * *

**Chapter 10: Chapter 10**

* * *

Gibbs had gone directly from the Metro PD parking lot to the NCIS forensics lab. Ballistics tests proved that Archer's weapon had fired the shot that had almost killed Tony. Once that was established, Gibbs had another job for Abby. Bypassing McGee, he asked her to compile any and all available information on David Delvechio. The results of the search were contained in one of two separate stacks of printouts and papers that now sat before him on his home's basement workbench.

David Delvechio was forty-eight years old, handsome and, by all accounts, charming and brilliant. He was also a success story of triumph over adversity. His parents had died in a car accident his junior year of high school. He had attended Harvard on both academic and hardship scholarships and graduated with honors from their school of business. His career began as an intern for Paradigm's parent company during university summer breaks. He was hired immediately after graduation, rising rapidly through the ranks to become the CEO's right hand man. When the Paradigm Investments subsidiary was formed, the reins were his from its inception.

Among the photocopied articles were a Wall Street Journal story from his early, wunderkind days and a later Cosmopolitan piece naming him a most eligible bachelor before his marriage that ended eight years after it began. The divorce was amicable and he was presently engaged in a long term relationship with a socialite.

The only evidence of any perceivable character flaw was his fondness of gambling. Casino records alone proved that that habit claimed a big chunk of the disposable income from his seven figure salary.

While Delvechio's personal portfolio seemed clean, those of Paradigm and its parent company were under federal scrutiny. The FBI and the SEC had made numerous investigations over the past thirty years. They had strong suspicions of financial irregularities that they had never been able to prove. The FBI was giving another go at navigating the financial labyrinth to a better end. They had served a fresh round of subpoenas just three weeks earlier for access to financial records. The CEO of the parent company had publicly stated he wasn't worried and was confident no irregularities would be found, claiming his companies had been unfairly singled out for harassment due to clichéd ethnic stereotypes.

By tracing his movements through flight manifests and passport hits, they knew Delvechio had been in DC the day of Archer's death and his trail dead ended three days later when he entered Costa Rico.

The second stack of documents before Gibbs in his basement were from the envelope Joanna Davis had given him.

Davis had begun her research for a university paper, assigned during her senior year to write a profile. Her chosen subject didn't have the wider notoriety of a Donald Trump. But, like a Texas oil baron or Hollywood producer, he was well known in his region of the country; a wealthy Manhattan businessman. Adding to the mogul's mystique was a rumor begun over twenty years earlier that still lingered today-that he had gotten away with murder in his own home.

On the tenth anniversary of the suspect death, a slick page East Coast quarterly magazine had run an in depth profile of the man with only a couple of paragraphs devoted to the homicide hearsay, dismissing it as local gossip mongering. All his friends and present employees refused to cooperate with the author. Among those who agreed to be interviewed for the article were a member of his household staff who'd left his employ eight years prior, past business associates and three ex wives. They also sought out the only possible witness to the long rumored crime. They found him on a college campus. The article included a photo of the handsome but angry young man taken as he profanely refused comment.

Davis had been refused audiences with all those she'd requested to interview for her college paper. She'd managed to speak to only one person with any personal connection to her subject, the ex housekeeper who'd been quoted in the article printed over a decade earlier. She'd managed it by showing up and knocking on the woman's door without calling first. Louise Carmichael still lived in the New York City area, less than an hour's drive from Columbia University.

Carmichael had, like all the others, refused to be interviewed. Davis had tried to convince her otherwise, but she wouldn't be budged, saying only that she couldn't. Before she'd left the woman's front porch, Davis had written her name and cell number on a piece of paper and asked Carmichael, if she changed her mind, to please call.

Over four years after she had been given the number and two months before Gibbs' team had been called to the forest scene of Allan Rodriguez's death, Louise Carmichael had called Joanna Davis wanting to talk.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Chapter 11**

* * *

Gibbs resisted an urge to reach for the bourbon. He had an interrogation to perform, one he dreaded. After he'd read the evidence in the Archer file, he had gone home to his basement and removed the envelope from the workshop drawer. He wanted all the facts coordinated and ordered in his thoughts before he began the questioning.

He had already read the envelope's contents once. But, new information caused him to read now from a different mindset. Feeling, as he had the first time, a touch of the the guilt a parent might feel searching for answers in a troubled child's diary. No matter what the motivation, it still seemed a violation of privacy.

Earlier, Gibbs had dismissed Joanna Davis as an impatient young woman tired of wasting a prestigious journalism degree in backwater Virginia and desperate for any ticket out. Her 'new evidence' was only hearsay from a prejudiced witness now deceased. It was old news, rehashed for decades.

He had accepted the envelope from Davis while Tony lay near death. Maybe that had clouded his judgment, obscured a threat. Faced with the personal devastation of losing Tony, how could he think DiNozzo's own father might want him dead? If no action had been taken in over twenty years, why would action be taken now? Even taking into account that the man was a brutal, class-A bastard, it still was hard to believe. But, as soon as he'd seen Delvechio's name on Archer's phone logs, he'd seen the connection.

Louise Carmichael's interview had only contributed a couple of paragraphs to the magazine article. Her comments had been supportive of DiNozzo and lamented the tragic twist of fate that had prematurely separated two soul mates.

Ten years later, Joanna Davis had pages of transcripts of tape recorded interviews that expanded and contradicted Carmichael's previous sentiments.

Louise Carmichael drank. She had called Joanna Davis when it was clear that the final consequence of her drinking was nigh. Her fatty liver was about to give out and she wasn't eligible for the transplant list. She loathed Enrico DiNozzo and was ready to settle accounts.

Louise had claimed it was fear that had kept her silent all those years. But, weighing the facts, Gibbs believed her secrets were kept more for financial reasons. The night Enrico DiNozzo's wife died, the housekeeper had gone to her room to pack her bags and flee. Louise Carmichael had no family, no money and nowhere to go. All facts David Delvechio had pointed out to her when he found her on the verge of leaving. He had told her she'd drawn false conclusions and that false accusations could have harsh consequences while loyalty would be rewarded. Louise stayed in DiNozzo's employ with a substantial raise in pay.

Two years later, Delvechio had been called again to fix things. This time, though, Carmichael couldn't be persuaded to stay in the DiNozzo mansion. Delvechio had instead negotiated an impromptu retirement package of full salary for her lifetime. Louise Carmichael had kept her secrets until she knew that lifetime was nearing its end.

One truth carried over from the magazine article to the transcripts. The relationship between Rachel Wells and Enrico DiNozzo had begun as a true love story. Rachel personified the belle of the ball; beautiful, intelligent, charismatic. And, Rico was absolutely besotted by his bride. The first three years of their marriage, the DiNozzo mansion was a happier place than it had ever been or would ever be again.

The fairy tale began crumbling with the birth of their son. If Rachel had a fault, she sometimes tended to be a bit moody. Rico had indulged her moods as he'd indulged her whims. After Anthony's birth, though, her moods changed more frequently. Over the years, they gradually deepened and darkened as they swung ever more wildly from one extreme to the other. Rachel's social drinking became a drinking problem. The family physician was called in when something stronger than alcohol was required to tame her moods.

From the beginning, Rico had seemed to resent the intrusion of his only child. For Rachel's and appearances sake, he tried to make occasional shows of affection. But, on the whole he seemed to only tolerate him. By the time the boy was five years old, Rachel and Rico were in separate bedrooms and Rico had taken up with the first of his many mistresses. Anthony was ten when, three weeks before Rachel's death, David Delvechio had been called to the home of Rico's latest lover where his wife stood cursing and crying and pounding on the front door.

Gibbs picked up the photocopy of one of the pages from the magazine article. He looked at the picture of a younger, angry Tony. As angry as he'd been that night in the parking lot. That night wasn't the first time Joanna Davis had tried to convince him to confirm her theory of his mother's death and bring her killer to justice. Earlier, Davis had been by his apartment. Just as he had for over twenty years, Tony had turned her away and refused to comment. Why, then, after all this time would his father want him dead?

* * *

**Chapter 12: Chapter 12**

* * *

Gibbs sighed and ran a hand across his face. When he had walked in the door of his house over an hour ago, Tony had been on the couch and greeted him with the usual grin and the 'Hey, Boss' and then Tony's glance had gone straight to the folder Gibbs held.

"Be downstairs," Gibbs had said before Tony could ask, escaping to the basement to prepare, rummaging through Tony's secrets. Gibbs knew only too well the power of secrets. The dark hold they could take over your life and how hard it was to let them go. He had no choice now but to force Tony to face and share his own. He gathered together some of the papers and headed up the staircase.

As soon as Gibbs entered the room, Tony was closely watching his face.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"We need to talk," Gibbs came to sit on the couch and Tony straightened on the other end.

"If you're about to tell me it's time for me to leave, I understand," Tony said. "I'm doing much better and-"

"Tell me what you know about David Delvechio."

Tony looked stunned.

"Del? What-"

Gibbs stopped the question.

"Tell me."

Tony hesitated a few seconds, studying Gibbs' face before he answered.

"He worked for my father."

"And?"

"You get more after you tell me why you're asking."

"That's not how it works, Tony. You first."

"What do you mean that's not how it works? Is this a talk or an interrogation? Did Fornell put you up to this?"

Gibbs stayed silent.

"Look, if this is about creative financial practices, I don't know anything."

Gibbs didn't try to correct the assumption.

'"Tell me, " Gibbs repeated, "What you know about David Delvechio."

Tony took fifteen seconds staring Gibbs down before he shrugged and spoke.

"He was the golden boy, the whiz kid, the genius. He started working for my father's company and started coming around the house for business then dinner. They played golf and Del kept getting promoted. He talked my father into diversification, got the new company and it took off."

"How about outside the business, personal level?"

"Personal level? He's the son my father never had."

"Was the feeling mutual, more than just brown nosing the boss? Devoted, loyal, do anything for him?"

"Yeah, he was a regular loyal Saint Bernard. Now, that's it until you answer my question."

"I think he paid to have you killed."

"What?" Tony paused speaking, disbelieving. "I haven't even talked to him in over twenty years. I was nobody to him back then. Why would he want me dead?"

"We have the shooter. Randall Archer, like we thought. Ballistics prove it. But, he's dead. Skull fractured by a bourbon bottle, not a planned killing. The shot Archer took at you-everything points to it being a paid hit. He had a long sheet out of New York, but we know you've never seen him before and there's no connection. He comes to D.C., for the first time in his life, loaded with cash and shooting at you. His burn phone only made calls to an escort service and Delvechio. Delvechio was in D.C. the night Archer died. You're sure that Delvechio has no reason to want you dead?"

Tony nodded. Gibbs paused a moment before continuing, hating what was coming next.

"I talked to Joanna Davis."

There was a puzzled instant on Tony's face, then Gibbs saw the name hit. He watched Tony briefly register the anger Davis had earlier provoked, quickly hidden as he cleared his expression. The only evidence of emotion was the color he couldn't control flaming over his cheeks.

"I wanted to know what set you off in the parking lot. She said she'd been by your place and called before she tried that last time at your car."

Tony wasn't going to volunteer anything, Gibbs decided, watching him stay still and silent, so he continued.

"Your father has a lot to lose if Davis can get the case re-opened."

Tony's detached expression darkened.

"Tony, you said yourself Delvechio had no reason to want you dead."

"Maybe I'm wrong," Tony said. "I have been known to piss people off. Why aren't you asking him instead of listening to some two bit hack?'

"He's out of the country. We lost him in Costa Rica. Davis was in New York a few weeks ago. She tried to get an interview with your father. She couldn't speak to him but did speak to employees. Past and present and business and house staff. Present turned her down for interviews but he had to have gotten word, known what she was working on."

"She has a witness," Gibbs continued. "Louise Carmichael. She saw you and your father on the landing at the top of the stairs. She saw him grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you and threatening you to never tell-"

"It was an accident. She drank, she fell down the stairs."

"There was no autopsy."

"Like I said, she drank. Pretty common knowledge. There was no reason for an autopsy."

"No reason, or a reason to block one? Signs of a struggle, beating ? He had enough cash and influence to do it."

"It was an accident."

"Tony-"

"My father did not pay to have me killed! He's a lot of things, but he's not a murderer. I know he never loved me but he never hated me enough to kill me."

Gibbs pulled three sets of stapled sheets from the file folder. One was from the Carmichael transcripts. The others were copies of hospital records and a statement from a retired nurse who had worked for the DiNozzo family physician.

"But, he almost did," Gibbs said. "Two years after your mother died. Right after Louise Carmichael overheard you accuse him of killing her."

Tony only glanced down once at the papers laid between them on the couch. He shook his head.

"She heard wrong."

"Really? Then what exactly did set him off to do that kind of damage, Tony?"

"It was my fault, I-"

"Hey!" Gibbs angrily cut him off. "There is nothing, nothing you could have done to make that beating your fault!"

"I baited him and I kept on and on. I wouldn't shut up. I'd been kicked out of boarding school, came home and started playing ball. When we made the Series, I thought maybe he'd finally care, maybe he'd be interested or proud. When he wasn't..." Tony shrugged. "I provoked him."

"You provoke him the other times, too? Were they all your fault?"

"Those were nothing. You know me and my mouth. You, of all people, should understand. A backhand, a head slap. Whatever it takes to shut me up, right?"

"Don't even pretend they're the same thing. Stop defending him."

"I am not defending him! I did provoke him, but he was wrong. I know that. He was wrong and he's an all around, low down, sorry excuse for a father. But, he would not pay to have me killed!"

"If he thought you were finally going to-"

"I sent her away, I didn't talk to her."

"How long has it been since you spoke to him? Twenty years? How would he know what you'd say?"

"How many years did you go without talking to your dad, Gibbs? Did it ever cross your mind to put a hit out on him?"

Gibbs didn't point out the obvious to Tony, how different the two situations were. Gibbs was the cold bastard in that estrangement and had never stopped loving his father.

"Did you see her fall down those stairs?"

"No."

"Then, you can't be sure-"

"I am sure! Dammit, Gibbs, just how fucked up do you think I am? Do you think I'm afraid of him, that I'd let him get away with killing my mother because I'm afraid? That I'm such a sorry excuse for a human being that my own father wants me dead?"

"Tony-"

"You're wrong!" Tony stood, stalked off to the bedroom and slammed the door.

Gibbs sat there a minute contemplating going after him but decided to let him settle down before he tried to settle things between them. Instead, he headed back downstairs and poured bourbon into a coffee cup. After he'd downed it, he called Expedia to make travel arrangements for New York. He used his own credit card, not wanting to waste time going through channels, irritated when he found the first available flight wasn't for four hours.

Once arrangements were complete, he poured and drank another two fingers of bourbon. Just as he set the empty cup back down, he heard a car horn honk followed by the slamming of his front door.

* * *

**Chapter 13: Chapter 13**

* * *

Gibbs raced up the steps, threw open the front door and looked out just in time to see a taxi turn a corner out of sight. He headed for his car, had the keys out of his pocket and in his hand before he stopped to reconsider his next move.

Tony was pissed, chasing him down and talking to him now wouldn't do any good. He couldn't make Tony see reason until he could prove his father was involved. Tony was in denial, making excuses for the bastard. Gibbs needed something concrete before he could force him to face the truth. He'd wait to talk again to Tony until after his return from New York.

When he went to replace the keys in his pocket, his thoughts suddenly and unexpectedly flashed back to when his father had placed them in his hand. He stared down at them and wondered how long he'd had the car ready, waiting for the chance to pass the keys on. How many times in all those years had the small town neighbors and friends asked after Leroy, how he was doing and why he never came home? How did he answer? Never with the truth, Gibbs was sure, about his ungrateful, grudge holding bastard of a son cutting off contact.

He doused the spark of guilt that tried to flare up. He'd call his father as soon as he got back. Right now, he had a more urgent call to make.

Gibbs told McGee he was headed to New York to follow a lead. He also told him to move surveillance to DiNozzo's apartment building. It would be a lot less effective there than at Gibbs' home, but at least help was nearby if needed. He instructed Tim to go by Tony's place to personally tell him the surveillance was in place and call him once he had.

McGee reported back within the hour that he had visited and notified a 'cranky' DiNozzo that the surveillance team was in place. The protection detail was taken care of but, the shape he was in, Tony needed more than security guards watching out for him. The nurse had already been by today to check on Tony but Gibbs wasn't leaving the state until he was sure DiNozzo would be looked after while he was gone. He called Ducky, giving him only the barest of details-Tony was back at his apartment and Gibbs was headed out of town-cutting off Mallard's response claiming he had a plane to catch. Ducky would make sure Tony had the care he needed. Gibbs hoped he'd be back himself tomorrow with enough evidence to resolve things between them. He was afraid, though, that that was wishful thinking.

* * *

Gibbs made it to his departure gate after boarding had begun. His taxi had been late, traffic had been awful, the check in line long and and the airport security chief had been out sick leaving an overcautious and overzealous chain of underlings to handle his weapons clearance, taking twice the time they should have.

As soon as he entered the plane's coach section, he spotted Tony, head back against the seat and eyes closed as if he were sleeping. After his initial 'what the hell is he thinking' shock on first seeing him sitting there, Gibbs stood still a few seconds debating on whether or not to notify a flight attendant there was a passenger aboard unfit to travel.

Deciding he'd rather take the chance with Tony's health than with his reaction and the possibly permanent fallout from Gibbs kicking him off the plane, he moved forward and took the aisle seat next to Tony, the only empty spot in the row of four. He never opened his eyes, but Gibbs knew, from the frown, that Tony had realized within seconds who had taken the seat beside him.

A couple of minutes after he sat down, a middle aged female headed his way. He saw her glance from her ticket back to Gibbs. Gibbs returned her glance with, apparently, more intensity than he intended. The woman took a step back then hurried to get a flight attendant to accompany her to claim her place.

Gibbs heard her speak as she and a stewardess approached.

"I specifically asked for the aisle."

"I'm sure there'll be no problem," the attendant smiled as she leaned over Gibbs to oust him.

"Actually, there is," Gibbs said before she could order him up. "There's been a mix up. My son and I were supposed to be seated together. We're on our way to his grandmother's funeral. They were real close and he's not taking it well."

Three sets of eyes turned to Tony who kept his own eyes closed as if he hadn't heard. The flight attendant gave a sympathetic murmur then looked to the unyielding face of the rightful seat holder.

"He got the news right after he had to put his horse down," Gibbs continued. "He'd raised it from a foal and they were out for a run when it caught a gopher hole at a gallop. Down they both went." He tugged at Tony's sling. "He's had a bad couple days."

The stewardess looked again to the woman who, though looking none too happy or symapthetic, nodded and accepted the ticket Gibbs held out to her.

The flight was quiet, Tony either sleeping or pretending to the whole time. He wasn't acting when the plane landed. When he didn't respond to the call to disembark, Gibbs nudged him awake before pulling his carry-on out from under the seat and moving toward the front of the plane.

When Tony retrieved his garment bag from the cabin closet, the weight of it seemed to stagger him back a step, but he took it and left the plane. Gibbs followed him out and down the concourse. There was no way he was letting him go off on his own in the shape he was in. He'd just hang back and follow and wait to offer assistance until Tony realized he had no choice but to accept his help.

It wasn't a long wait. Tony's steps slowed the further he went. He swayed under the weight of the luggage and stopped to steady himself leaning into the wall. Gibbs was there, pulling the garment bag from Tony's grasp.

Tony didn't acknowledge him but he didn't protest, either.

"Can you make it outside or do you need one of the scooter things?" Gibbs asked.

Tony straightened, "I can make it."

Gibbs was dubious but let him go and kept slow pace beside him as he walked away. As they neared the taxi line, Tony looked as if he was nearing the end of his endurance.

"You got reservations anywhere?" Gibbs asked.

Tony shook his head.

"You're in no shape to try to see him tonight. Come with me, get some rest and we'll go together in the morning."

Tony hesitated, and Gibbs knew he wanted to refuse. But, the fact that he didn't have the energy left to stand in place much longer much less find and stand in a hotel check-in line didn't leave him much choice in the matter. He nodded.

* * *

After a silent cab ride, they made it to the room and Tony immediately went to a bed and dropped to sit on it. He removed his sling and then began the painful procedure of removing his jacket. Once he had the jacket off, Gibbs saw the splotches of red on his shirt over the wound site.

"You're bleeding. You need to get it checked."

Tony shook his head.

"It's nothing. It's just from where I pulled the tube out."

"You pulled the tube out?"

He'd almost died, was finally getting stronger and not only had he risked his recovery with the trip itself, he'd yanked out the tube?

"It's no big deal," Tony said. "Clip one stitch and pull. It was aggravating the hell out of me and I didn't need it anymore."

Gibbs was about to let loose with a pissed off, smart ass comment about confusing MD and PE degrees when he realized that Tony expected it, was already bracing against his anger and on the defensive. Gibbs had every right to be angry. It was a damn fool thing to do. He could have hurt himself doing it, undone all the healing done so far. Concerns Gibbs seemed to care about a lot more than Tony did himself. But, warranted or not, his anger wouldn't help any, could only make things worse. He doubted Tony had the strength left to storm out of the room, but he didn't doubt he might try if pushed.

Gibbs forced himself silent and went to the garment bag, rifling through the pockets and feeling around the bottom. There were no medical supplies at all, not even one of the three prescription bottles holding the medications he was supposed to be taking daily.

"I'll be back," he said then left the room.

Both a liquor store and a drugstore were within three blocks of the hotel. When Gibbs returned to the room, Tony was asleep on the top of the covers, fully dressed with only his shoes off. Rest was what he probably needed most and Gibbs hated to wake him. But, the wound needed checking. If he'd done any damage screwing around with the tube and exerting himself, he was headed to the ER if Gibbs had to drag him there kicking and screaming.

He took a tumbler from the charger that held the ice bucket and glasses and opened the bottle of Jack Daniels he'd bought. After he'd poured and drank a shot, he took and filled a glass with water from the bathroom faucet. He tossed the bag of medical supplies onto a chair, held the glass of water in one hand and dragged the chair to Tony's bedside. He set the glass on the bedside table and sat down in the chair with the bag in his lap then reached and scooped a hand between the pillow and the side of Tony's face. He lifted and turned Tony's face up and tapped his cheek.

"Tony? I'm gonna fix you up, okay?"

He got a half-awake grumble then nod in answer and unbuttoned the shirt and carefully peeled away the soiled dressing. He was relieved to see Tony was right, there was no apparent damage done. The stitches held and it seemed more seepage than active bleeding that had stained his shirt.

When he began to clean the wound with a medicated towelette, Tony winced and blinked fully awake. He stayed silent as Gibbs replaced and taped the dressing in place. After he was done, he placed a palm against Tony's forehead. His temperature seemed fine.

"Looks like you survived yourself without much damage," Gibbs said.

He opened a bottle of ibuprofen, shook four tablets out into Tony's hand then handed him the glass of water.

After he had taken the pills, he held Tony's left arm up and pulled the shirt sleeve off. Tony straightened his right arm so Gibbs could pull that sleeve off, then pull the shirt from underneath him. He tossed the shirt into the bag with the used bandages then looked back to see Tony looking up at him.

"He didn't do it," Tony said.

Whether he was talking about his mother's death or the attempt on his own life, Gibbs didn't know and didn't ask. If it was the latter, Gibbs wondered who he was trying to convince. If Tony was truly sure his father wasn't involved, why was he here?

"Get some sleep," Gibbs said.

He turned off the bedside lamp and pulled the chair back to the table then walked to flip the wall switch that cut off the overhead light. The room was left near dark, lit with only a slice of light from outside coming through a crack in the curtains. He returned to the table to pour another drink. He was surprised when, a few minutes later, Tony spoke.

"According to my father, if you kill yourself by getting drunk and accidentally falling down the stairs, you can still make it to heaven. If you write a note first and add pills..."

He waited for Tony to continue. When he didn't, Gibbs moved from the chair to sit on the other bed, facing Tony. Then he did what he suddenly wished he'd done at the beginning. He asked one question.

"What happened?"

* * *

**Chapter 14: Chapter 14**

* * *

He had hoped for a son. Most men did, but Gibbs hoped it even more than most men. He wasn't a soft or sentimental type. He was confident he could guide and teach and deal with a boy; make a strong, fine man of him. But, what would he do with a girl? He wasn't equipped to deal with a girl. He had hoped much more for a son than he had ever let on, for Shannon's sake. He had echoed her 'As long as it's healthy.' line whenever asked whether he'd prefer a boy or a girl. And, of course, that was true. Health mattered much more to him than gender.

Still, he had desperately hoped for a son until the moment Kelly was handed over to him and he held her, felt her in his arms and looked down for the first time to the face of his daughter. The fleeting disappointment between the 'it's a girl' announcement and holding her was forgotten and washed away in a flood of paternal awe. He was holding his child and, at first sight, she became everything he had ever hoped for.

Having showered and gone two thirds of the way through a large room service carafe of coffee, Gibbs watched Tony sleep and wondered what was missing, what was defective, what was twisted inside Enrico DiNozzo that he had never held and loved his only child.

Tony had an explanation. That Rico DiNozzo had loved Rachel; he had never stopped loving her even as their marriage disintegrated along with Rachel's mental stability. Rachel's downward spiral had a definite catalyst-Tony's birth. How could you expect a man to love what had ruined his life?

Gibbs had forced himself silent to just listen rather than interrupt to angrily contradict. Just as he had struggled to keep what he felt off his face as he listened. Even in the near dark, he had carefully guarded his expression.

Because Tony was very still as he spoke, way more still than was natural for Tony. He was focused, doing the best he could to sound as he would reciting a stranger's case file facts, not his own history. Because Tony didn't want to be pitied as a victim or admired as a survivor. Tony wanted to stay the Tony Gibbs knew before he knew his hidden history.

Gibbs understood. Gibbs' cover had been blown by an explosion, Tony's by a bullet. Tony was forced to reveal the facts but whatever lay beneath them was off limits, not up for inspection or discussion. So, Gibbs had hidden his reaction as Tony answered his question.

"_What happened?"_

"_I heard something, I thought it was her. I went to her room. She wasn't there, but I did find the note. It was on her bedside table along with a half -empty bottle of Crown Royal and an empty bottle of Seconal."_

"_I went looking for her and saw her lying there. Maybe she changed her mind at the last minute and was going for help. She threw up at the top of the stairs. Maybe she just didn't want to get sick in the bed and was trying to get to the bathroom and was disoriented. Between the pills and whiskey, who knows what she was thinking, if she was even able to think, those last minutes." _

"_I don't know. All I do know is that my father was in his room at the other end of the house. He was nowhere around. He didn't do it."_

When Louise Carmichael had returned home and come upon the scene, Rachel dead at the bottom of the stairs and Rico shaking Tony at the top, she hadn't seen the note that blamed Rico and his affairs for her death. She hadn't realized Tony had screamed for his father, and given him the note when he came. She didn't know it was Tony's "Mama killed herself." that had prompted Rico to violently swear Tony to silence. Gibbs was the first to hear the truth of that night and the two years that followed.

As far as Gibbs was concerned, the cold, distant neglect was abuse in itself. But, Tony's father hadn't touched him before Rachel's death. The first physical blow resulted from Tony unable to stay silent even though he'd been forbidden to ever mention it again.

Rico had told Tony suicide would stain Rachel's memory, shame her name and break her family's heart. The man had used the threat of her eternal damnation to insure Tony's silence. Her death was an accident. To suggest otherwise would not only betray his mother's memory but send her straight to hell.

Even young as he was, it had made no sense to him that burning a note and silence could alter the actual facts of her death and the ultimate destination of her soul. That would be like trying to trick God and from everything Tony understood, tricking God just wasn't possible, not even for his father.

Saying it was an accident didn't make it so. What if it had been the pills that had killed her rather than the fall? Even if it had been the fall that had killed her, did that mean what she'd written in the note and what she'd tried to do were really canceled out and forgiven? The thought of his mother burning in hell had preyed upon Tony. After too many nightmares of his mother in flames, he'd broken silence, desperate for reassurance.

His father had been drinking that night as he had been nearly every night since his wife's death. Tony had had a warning-an enraged order to shut up. But he had ignored it and asked on, reckless in his need for an explanation that could console him. Tony's insistence had provoked that first blow from his father. Tony omitted details of any intermittent blows and fast forwarded two years to describe the last, provoked by a baseball game.

Gibbs remembered the first time Tony had told him about that ballgame. Just hearing it described twenty years later had sent a rush of pride through Gibbs. Tony's grand slam had won the big game. It was an All-American cliché, perfect father/son, dream come true, movie script moment. But, to Tony's father, it had been only one more moment in a lifetime of nothing at all.

Last night, Tony had told Gibbs that his father's apathy 'pissed him off'. Gibbs knew how often pain escaped disguised as anger. Shattered, Gibbs thought, would have probably been a more appropriate description. Any hopes Tony might have had of ever touching his father had to have been shattered.

When his father had turned away that night, Tony had refused to accept the dismissal. He had shouted him back. He had finally broken through and reached his father with accusatory, slashing, wounding words.

It might have ended with a typical backhand if Tony hadn't refused to shut up, if he'd stayed down when knocked down. If he hadn't, after his arm had already been broken, unrelentingly followed his father as Rico tried to walk away and escape his words, then Tony might not have ended up in critical condition in an ICU.

It had been David Delvechio who had kept vigil at Tony's bedside until he regained consciousness the first time. Waiting to inform him his chart said he'd been beaten by a group of unknown assailants behind Ash Street. And, to let him know he wouldn't be returning home once released from the hospital. Arrangements had been made for him to enroll in a military academy as soon as he was able.

Tony hadn't contradicted the recorded version of how he'd been injured, he simply claimed not to remember when questioned. He'd been the one to instigate it and force it to its bloody conclusion. And, worst of all, he had used his own mother's memory and death as a weapon to hurt his father.

He'd stopped short of the 'it was my fault' he'd voiced in Gibbs' home. Not because he didn't believe it, Gibbs knew, but because he didn't want a repeat of Gibbs' reaction when he'd said it before.

It didn't matter what Gibbs felt or thought; Tony still felt the way he did. It was a waste of time wishing he could have been there for Tony back then. He couldn't change the past but he could damn well be there for him now. If his father had hurt him this time, this time the bastard would pay.

* * *

**Chapter 15: Chapter 15**

* * *

"_He didn't do it."_

Those had been Tony's last words before he'd fallen asleep last night. It was a good thing he'd fallen asleep because that repeated denial translated to a defense of Rico DiNozzo that sorely tested Gibbs' efforts to only listen, not react.

Gibbs was recalling those words as he sat at the table, reading the complimentary USA Today that had been left outside the hotel room door. Tony walked out of the bathroom, his hair damp, bare chested, a dry towel draped over his left shoulder. The way his sweatpants drooped loosely across his waist made it obvious how much weight he'd lost since the shooting. Watching him approach, pale and gaunt, green eyes set in dark hollows, Gibbs was stabbed with a flashback of blue lights and fifteen percent. He denied the deja vu-Tony was on the mend, not on the way down.

DiNozzo walked to the table to reach for the medical supplies but Gibbs placed a hand over the gauze and nodded Tony towards the other chair.

"Sit down."

"I can-"

"Sit down," Gibbs repeated.

Tony sat and pulled the towel off his shoulder, exposing the wound. Gibbs dressed it. Just as he'd finished, there was a rap on the door.

"Room service."

Gibbs went to flip the latch and open the door. The waiter set the trays on the table and left after Gibbs signed for the meals.

"I got you a sausage and cheese omelet," Gibbs said. Tony nodded.

They removed the tray covers and Gibbs began to eat. He held the paper, looking down towards it but frequently glancing over the readers he wore across the table.

DiNozzo's gaze was on the food as he used a fork to section and scoot the eggs and meat around the plate, never lifting any towards his mouth.

After a few minutes of playing with his food, Tony spoke.

"You are gonna keep this professional, just about the case, right?"

Gibbs stayed silent and didn't look up from the paper.

"Because, everything else, that's past history. The statute of limitations ran out a long time ago."

Gibbs glanced to Tony only long enough to raise an eyebrow indicating his disdain and disregard of the idea that retribution was subject to a time limit before returning his gaze to the paper. Tony frowned.

"What happened back then has nothing to do with the case. That was between him and me, personal."

Gibbs remembered the recent vigil by Tony's hospital bed, when he wasn't sure if he'd even wake, much less wake himself. Nothing had felt so personal to him since the losses of a previous lifetime.

"It's not up to you," Tony continued. "The past is my life, my business. The case, the reason you're here-he had nothing to do with."

He'd almost killed him when he was twelve years old and Tony was dismissing it as irrelevant, as none of Gibbs' business. Again, as it had in a nightmare the previous night, a scene Gibbs hadn't been present for unreeled in his mind. Tony, a battered, forsaken child, waking in ICU, being dealt a final rejection by his father's surrogate son, the ultimate insult added to injury.

Tony was still defending the bastard and it pissed Gibbs off. He got that it was hard to accept your own father wanted you dead, he got it. But, Tony was too damned smart not to face facts, to believe something false simply because it was easier to believe. Those blinders he had stapled to the sides of his head were only going to make the truth harder to take when they were ripped off.

Gibbs pulled off the glasses and dropped the newspaper along with the 'just listen, don't comment' facade, preparing to argue DiNozzo into submission to reality. But, before he could speak, Tony cut him off, holding a hand up between them.

"Don't! I don't want to hear it! You shouldn't even be working the case! You've already made up your mind he's guilty and you won't listen to anything else. No possible way I could be right and you wrong, huh? Newsflash, Gibbs-you can be wrong and you are wrong!"

He dropped the fork and left the table.

Twenty minutes later, Gibbs waited, in increasing frustration, for Tony to get ready. Earlier, Gibbs had, with a considerable effort, bitten back his aggravation and opinion in hopes of making peace and gone to offer his assistance when Tony began to dress.

Tony had declined the offer with a curt "No thanks." Gibbs, showing uncharacteristic restraint, hadn't cursed him as a stubborn pain in the ass but only stepped aside quietly and left him to it. He was at the table, holding the newspaper again, not bothering to don his reading glasses. He was only using the paper to pretend he wasn't watching Tony's slow progress.

Any movement of Tony's left arm was felt at the point of impact in his upper chest. He had been prescribed a very limited regimen of painful physical therapy to exercise the arm without undue tugging of the surgical incision and underlying repairs. Other than the few daily movements allowed, the arm was to be kept in the sling and immobile.

Just dressing unassisted had to be an ordeal. Chalk another round of pain up to his old man and Tony's own pigheadedness. Gibbs, concern trumping annoyance, dropped the paper to the table and openly watched, hoping DiNozzo would reconsider and let him help. Tony threw one angry, defiant glance Gibbs' way then ignored his audience as he struggled with the buttons of his shirt.

Gibbs suddenly realized that, while he'd rather endure the pain than allow Gibbs to help, Tony hadn't asked for the chance to talk to his father first alone. If he had, Gibbs would have refused, citing suspect or witness contamination. Both real reasons but not the paramount reason-that he didn't want Tony to face him alone. If Tony insisted though, he had no way to stop him outside threatening his job which both knew would be an empty threat. Tony hadn't insisted, Tony hadn't even mentioned it.

No matter what Tony said and in spite of his supposed certainty of his father's innocence in this case, Tony hadn't protested Gibbs' presence at the reunion. Tony had set out intending to go it alone, hadn't advised Gibbs beforehand or asked for Gibbs to accompany him. But, now that he was here, he hadn't asked him to stay away, either.

Which led Gibbs to believe Tony wanted him there as much as he wanted to be there. In spite of the fact he was pissed at Gibbs, in spite of the fact Gibbs didn't believe him, he wanted him there. Maybe Gibbs couldn't change Tony's mind, couldn't make the fallout any easier. Maybe he should quit trying. Tony didn't want his opinion or his advice. He just wanted him to be there for him. Gibbs stood and walked to stand before Tony.

"Okay. Your life, your call. Strictly professional, strictly here and now."

Tony's left hand was resting limply on his thigh, done in by the buttons. Still, he didn't look up to Gibbs.

"Maybe he can give us some leads." Gibbs continued, watching for a response. He knew Tony wouldn't buy for a minute he'd had a change of heart. But, to smooth things between them, they could both pretend there was a chance Gibbs could be open minded.

Gibbs hoped it was enough of a concession because it was as far as he could go. Taking the chance, he sat down beside Tony and swiped the tie from the bed. He turned Tony's collar up and looped the tie around his neck. Tony didn't protest, only turned to offer Gibbs better access.

"This waited twenty years, it couldn't wait until you were better?" Gibbs asked as he began the knot. There was a big unspoken 'why' in his question. He'd backed off but wasn't ready to let it go completely.

"I don't know," Tony said. "I've been meaning to do it for a long time. This is sort of a reason, better than any reason I've come up with in twenty years. I guess I just thought I needed to do before I lost my nerve again. It hit home you never know how much time's left. I could've died, I could get the phone call he's dead. He's my father..."

Tony let the sentence trail off with no further explanation. Surely, Gibbs thought, he only wanted to put paid to unfinished business. He feared, though, that in some hidden shadow in the back of his mind, Tony might be hoping for reconciliation or seeking absolution.

"That man," Gibbs said deliberately, "Is nothing. He never had it in him. He's not capable of being a father."

"You never saw him with Del."

Gibbs made a dismissive huffing noise. He finished knotting the tie and gave it a couple of perfecting tugs.

"It was like off TV or the movies," Tony said. "He listened to him, he was proud of him, he liked having him around. I used to watch them and think maybe it was just kids my father didn't like. Maybe when I got older, he'd care about me like he did Del. Gibbs, he loves the guy for real, like you're supposed to love a son."

"Not for real; smoke and mirrors."

Tony let out an exasperated groan and shook his head.

"You weren't there! And yet, you still know everything and I'm still wrong!"

"Hell, Tony," Gibbs said, "Think about it. Delvechio was a kid with no family and Harvard Business School-your father was what he wanted to be and just what he'd want in a father. He would've idolized the guy."

"And, there was Delvechio on your father's doorstep, young financial Houdini, idolizing him, making him money. Everything he'd want in a son wrapped in nice paper and delivered in a neat package. Delvechio fit the bill, he played the part. It's easy to connect with somebody because they're everything you want them to be."

"Exactly!" Tony said.

"All because of," Gibbs said, shaking his head. "Because of is easy. In spite of is harder; in spite of's the real thing. Your father wanted Del because he was the genius, because he made your old man lots of money. But, did he ever piss your father off, disappoint him? You think Del ever had the guts to get up in his face and have it out? Push it, test it?"

"Maybe. I don't know," Tony answered. "You don't know either."

"I do," Gibbs said. "The answer is no. They got some happily-ever-after fairy tale going on, not something real. Your old man couldn't handle real."

Tony rolled his eyes.

"You're saying anytime people are perfect for each other, it can't be real?"

"I'm saying that your father's an idiot! Anybody who wasn't an idiot would be proud to be your father."

Tony looked at him a few seconds before shifting his gaze to his own shoes and asking a one-word question.

"Anybody?"

"Anybody," Gibbs said, emphasizing his answer by placing a hand on Tony's shoulder.

Tony kept staring down. Gibbs waited, hoping he'd managed to convince him it wasn't his fault his father had thrown him out like garbage. After a full minute, Tony looked back up to him and spoke.

"So, that 'because of-in spite of' thing, does it apply to all relationships? Because, your in-spite-of's gotta be off the charts. Meter-busting, even. That should make you perfect husband material. If your theory's right, how come-"

Gibbs interrupted Tony with a relieved, lighter-than-usual whack to the back of his head. Tony grinned.

"Just keeping it real, Boss."

* * *

**Chapter 16: Chapter 16**

* * *

Gibbs was usually on guard, turning to hide the smile or disguising amusement with a scowl or glare. The gauntlet had been dropped between them on first meeting and, all these years later, the challenge was still ongoing.

This time, though, Gibbs returned Tony's grin openly and without reservation. He was immensely relieved that he'd inadvertently stumbled across a way to reach Tony and right things between them while still managing to dodge any conversational bullets about _feelings_.

Gibbs cell phone rang. He clapped Tony's shoulder before reaching into his pocket to pull out the phone. Glancing down, he saw Ducky's name on the caller ID. He hadn't thought to call him to let him know Tony wasn't home to be checked on.

"Yeah," Gibbs answered.

"Tony's not at his apartment."

"I know."

"He's supposed to be resting, not playing musical accommodations. I am happy you've smoothed your rift and his mood will be, I hope, better than it was when I spoke to him yesterday. Still, a phone call letting me know he was back at your home before I came here would have been appreciated by me as well as the building superintendent. I tracked him down to let me into Tony's apartment. Neither he nor the conspicuously buxom, scantily clad resident of 3-C were happy to have his service call interrupted. Our inconveniences aside, it really is unwise for Anthony to be gallivanting back and forth between-".

"He's not at my house," Gibbs interrupted. "He's here."

"Here? Here where?"

"Manhattan. He snuck away and onto the plane. Pulled the drainage tube out himself, too."

Gibbs immediately shoved the phone into Tony's right hand. Ducky's ire rose from the tiny speaker as Tony cringed and raised the phone to his ear.

* * *

The animation that Tony had controlled and suppressed while angry with Gibbs was unleashed now as he sat beside Gibbs in the back seat of the taxi. His fingers drummed against his thigh and the sole of his expensive loafer tapped an erratic beat against the floorboard. His eyes were as restless, shifting his gaze out the four windows, down, then back front, looking everywhere but in Gibbs' direction.

A few minutes into the drive, he glanced at the taxi driver's license then leaned forward in the seat and asked the driver who he thought was Bollywood's most luscious leading lady.

Cabbie Rakesh Patel answered DiNozzo hesitantly at first, with a squinting glance in the rear view mirror as if wary of condescension . Within seconds, though, he was drawn in, passionately debating in favor of Karena Kapoor against Tony's choice of Aishwarya Rai.

As they ranked their choices on hip action, hair flips and smoldering gazes, Gibbs silently watched and listened, reminded of what a chameleon Tony was and how well he could camouflage his true colors. Patel would never guess his laughing passenger was on his way to a showdown delayed for decades.

Gibbs had chosen the hotel for its close proximity to the DiNozzo Enterprises building. Even so, Manhattan traffic turned the short distance into a trip of over twenty minutes, Tony chattering away the whole time.

When the cab pulled to a stop at the curb, Patel reached over the seat, smiling to shake Tony's hand as if he were farewelling an old friend. They stepped from the cab confronted with the polished granite facade of the DiNozzo Building and its revolving door waiting ten feet across the wide sidewalk. Tony stood still and silent looking at the entrance.

"Ready?" Gibbs asked.

"No."

Gibbs was unprepared for the force with which Tony's softly spoken confession tore through him.

Tony was part of the job. Tony was his agent, an extension of his will, a means to an end. Gibbs had never hesitated to use him, manipulate him. Even, if necessary, risk him for the job. Now, he fought an unfamiliar and powerful urge to spin Tony around and march him away from here, to spare him, protect him.

But, he couldn't. It was too late. Tony had stepped past the point of no return. To retreat now was surrender to the past, to fear, to weakness. Surrender was not an option because surrender would be worse for Tony than anything that lay in wait beyond those doors.

Gibbs stood silently beside him, waiting. After a minute, Tony took a deep breath and walked across the sidewalk and through the entrance.

Tony exited the revolving door transformed- chin up, shoulders back, no sign of fear or hesitation, striding across the lobby as if he owned the place.

In spite of his misgivings and dread, pride put a small smile on Gibbs face as he followed Tony into an elevator. Tony may be a chameleon, all shifting persona and deflection but he was proving once again that, at his core, he was all steel.

Tony punched the button for the fifth floor. When the doors slid open, they exited facing an attractive, thirty-something brunette behind a desk fronting a semicircular reception area. She smiled up at them and spoke.

"Good morning. May I help you?"

Gibbs showed her his badge. "Special Agent Jethro Gibbs, NCIS. I need to speak to Enrico DiNozzo concerning a homicide investigation."

She reached into a drawer, pulled out a business card and extended it towards him.

"You can call Mr. DiNozzo's attorney to set up an appointment."

Gibbs ignored the proffered card.

"Maybe you didn't hear clearly. I am a federal agent and I need to speak to Enrico DiNozzo- now -about a murder investigation."

"I'm sorry, but without an appointment or warrant, that's not possible. If you have a subpoena, I can have an attorney here momentarily to-"

Gibbs cut her off by turning his back to her to ask Tony "Where is he?'

Tony pointed to a second elevator beside which stood a tall and stocky man in black suit and tie.

When Gibbs turned that way and stepped forward, the well dressed security guard moved to block the doors, reaching underneath his suit coat and placing a hand on the butt of his holstered revolver. Tony grabbed Gibbs' sleeve to stop him, then turned to the receptionist, glancing down to the name plaque on the desk. He rested a thigh on the desk to half-sit on the desk's edge and leaned over into her personal space and spoke.

"Sherry, we don't need a fuss here; Mr. DiNozzo wouldn't want a scene. Do you know who I am? Let me introduce myself. I'm the one the old timers won't talk about and the one the newbies whisper about." He pulled his badge case from his jacket pocket and leaned closer to almost whisper in her ear as he opened the leather wallet to show her his ID.

"I'm Anthony D. DiNozzo, I'm the the son. The only son, the one and only child of Enrico DiNozzo. You gotta ask yourself, what could make a man cut ties with his only child, right? Must've been something pretty awful. I know you must have heard stories, some pretty far out theories. Who knows what's true, what I'm capable of? You wanna set me off, you wanna take the chance? All you gotta do is buzz the old man, let him decide."

Sherry paled and glanced to the security guard who took a step closer. There was fretful indecision on the girl's face as she seemed to weigh the consequences of contravening Rico DiNozzo's explicit standing orders versus facing the unknown quantity of an unhinged Tony. As if taking pity on her, Tony sighed and stood.

"Look, he's got a PA. Buzz her, let her decide, let her take the heat. Because, believe me, you don't want the responsibility for whatever might happen if I don't get in to see him in the next five minutes. Guarantee you, it'll make tomorrow's edition of the Post."

He made a sweeping motion with his right hand, indicating the handful of people around the room waiting in chairs and on couches.

"Somebody'll be sure to take a snap with the ol' cell phone and, voila, you're part of front page news! You want that head shot in your resume when you're looking for a new job? You think the old man wants that kind of publicity?"

A door to one of the floor's offices opened and Tony's attention turned to the man that stepped into the room. He was a tall, elegantly dressed man with white hair who looked to be in his seventies.

"Duarte!" Tony called out to him.

The man turned his way, squinted then looked shocked.

"Anthony?"

"Special Agent Anthony, now," Tony said as he walked to stand beside him. "NCIS, federal agent. This is my boss, Special Agent Gibbs. Boss, Sal Duarte, lawyer."

"What are you doing here?" Duarte asked the question with open hostility.

"Nice to see you again, too, Sal," Tony answered. "But, we can't waste time on pleasantries. I'm here on official federal agent business, real serious stuff. We need to see the big guy."

"The FBI's handling the investigation. NCIS has no jurisdiction, no interest."

"Not finances, Sal. Murder."

"Murder?"

"Yeah. Attempted and accomplished. I'm the attempted and the hit man that tried to take me out's the accomplished."

"Why are you here?" He repeated the question with more venom than the first time.

"Because Del's the prime suspect in both."

"David Delvechio? You're accusing Delvechio of murder?"

"Yeah. Turn's out Mr. Perfect's just a touch tainted. Got a fundamental flaw of the homicidal kind."

"That's ludicrous!"

"That's what I thought, too, at first. But, it's true."

Duarte glared at Tony, shaking his head.

"I warned him; I tried to stop him, told him it was a mistake! I warned him you'd be back but Delvechio convinced-"

"Agent Gibbs!"

Sherry loudly called out, interrupting Duarte.

"Mr. DiNozzo will see you now."

Gibbs hesitated, wishing Sherry had stayed indecisive just a bit longer before passing the buck higher up and interrupting Duarte . The attorney should be questioned immediately. Under normal circumstances, he'd turn the lawyer over to Tony and do the Rico interrogation solo. Tony wouldn't allow the solo confrontation, though, and Tony was his ticket into Rico DiNozzo's office. He didn't want to drain Tony's very limited stamina questioning Duarte before his father. Whatever the lawyer had to say would have to wait.

"You," Gibbs pointed at Duarte. "Don't leave. When we're done with him, we're coming back to you."

"You're not questioning him without me present."

When Duarte stepped towards the elevator, Gibbs placed a restraining palm against the attorney's chest.

"We go, you wait here."

"I'm his personal counsel. If-"

"If," Gibbs interrupted him, "He wants you he can call for you. Otherwise, you stay put. I want to talk to you next. You wait for me here."

Gibbs hoped Rico would prefer privacy for the reunion, at least to begin with. Tony didn't need an audience. Duarte started to protest but stopped in the face of Gibbs glare. Instead, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

The suited guard accompanied them up and off the elevator into a luxurious ante room to face an older, exquisitely put together woman sitting behind a carved mahogany desk. She watched them leave the elevator and approach, intently studying Tony with a hostile glare. She picked up the desk phone's receiver and said "They're here."

* * *

**Chapter 17: Chapter 17**

* * *

The woman listened for a few seconds before hanging up then spoke to the security man.

"Not yet."

Gibbs temper flared at the delay. Duarte had, no doubt, called Rico, demanding to be present or working to get their stories straight before questioning.

He looked to Tony who stood stock still, eyes forward. He seemed a couple of shades paler than when they'd left the hotel. Emotional stress aside, DiNozzo had to be pushing his physical limits after the exertions of yesterday. Recalling how none of Tony's omelet had made it to his mouth, Gibbs wondered when he'd last eaten and how much longer he'd be able to stay on his feet.

Gibbs wouldn't wait much longer before forcing his way into the next room. He just wanted to hurry and get it the hell over with. He dreaded the aftermath more than the confrontation. But, the sooner it came, the sooner Tony could begin getting past it.

Gibbs looked from Tony to the carved wooden door that led into Enrico DiNozzo's office. He remembered his one previous attempt to speak to Tony's father. That attempt had failed although Rico had responded by proxy.

It had been when Tony lay, odds were, dying from the plague. Gibbs had known very little of the truth back then. He had known they were estranged, hadn't spoken for years. Knew, from offhand comments dropped by Tony through the years, that Rico hadn't been a good father. But, good or not, he was still his father. Tony deserved the concern of a father and Gibbs couldn't imagine the man not caring that his son, that Tony, may lay dying.

He had been repeatedly put on hold, handed off four different times. Each successive voice listened to his demand to speak to DiNozzo then asked that Gibbs leave a number with the assurance he'd be called back within the hour. Each time, Gibbs refused, insisting on speaking to Enrico DiNozzo immediately.

The last time he'd been taken off hold, it was to a man's voice. Gibbs remembered that voice, polite and businesslike; his words brief and straight to the point. Three years later, Gibbs could still recall those words, verbatim.

"_Agent Gibbs, I spoke to Mr. DiNozzo and gave him your message. He asked me to relay his appreciation for your efforts but to also ask that you desist. Should Anthony, in fact, die, please send an official notification. Otherwise, no further contact is necessary or welcome. Unfortunately, as far as Mr. DiNozzo's concerned, his son is dead to him already."_

That last sentence had cost Gibbs his composure and a cell phone.

His remembrance was interrupted by the soft buzzing of the phone on the desk. The woman answered and, after listening and replacing the receiver looked to Gibbs.

"He'll see you now."

The guard opened the door a foot, leaning his head inside while blocking the entrance with his body. After a second, he opened it fully and stepped aside to let them enter. He stayed outside as he closed the door behind them.

Gibbs had seen photographs of Enrico DiNozzo, both from his own personal, pre-hire investigation of Tony and Abby's research for the case. Although his features were less chiseled than his son's and older, his eyes darker and his hair lighter, Gibbs knew coming in that there was a strong resemblance. Knowing was one thing. Standing just feet away, facing so much of Tony in a man he despised, was unexpectedly jolting.

He watched Tony's father as he took in the sight of his son for the first time in decades. Even as Gibbs was on edge and on guard for any threatening move, he also watched for some sign of remorse for the past or concern for the obvious injuries Tony had now. But, there was only dispassionate appraisal in his expression, as if he was sizing up a stranger rather than facing his son.

Gibbs eyes had just begun to shift towards Tony when Rico spoke, snapping his attention back his way.

"Before you say a word," he said, his tone controlled and cool as he stared Tony down, "You need to know it was never the threats, I was never afraid. Call it paternal obligation, an outstanding debt. Penance."

"But, it was by choice; I wasn't forced. Be sure you understand and believe that before you take this any further. It's done, it's over. I consider any and all obligation or debt I owe you paid in full. It was made plain to you-no more."

"What?" Tony asked.

Gibbs looked to Tony, saw his baffled expression. He had assumed Rico was referencing something from their shared past. But, Tony seemed as in the dark as Gibbs as to what his father meant.

"No more," Rico repeated.

"No more what?" Tony asked again.

Rico ignored the question and turned from his son to Gibbs.

"I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, Gibbs, and go with the assumption that he managed to implicate Delvechio without your help or knowledge. If you don't want to be brought down, along with your agent and your agency, I suggest you un-implicate him immediately."

"David Delvechio was implicated by evidence that-" Gibbs said.

"No more what?" Tony insisted, interrupting Gibbs. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Before his father could answer, Sal Duarte barged into the room, a legal-sized leather portfolio in his hand, and came to stand beside Rico.

"Still straight to voice mail," Duarte said, "Angela says she last spoke to him Tuesday morning,"

Rico turned back to Tony.

"If anything's happened to Del..."

Rico left the sentence unfinished but the accusation and the threat loomed loud and clear. Gibbs had expected evasion, lies, stonewalling. He hadn't expected the open hostility and threatening attitude directed towards Tony. It was a fool move for the suspect to threaten the victim in front of the investigating agent. Not to mention it really pissed Gibbs off.

"David Delvechio," Gibbs said, "Is the prime suspect for both a murder charge and conspiracy to commit murder. Special Agent DiNozzo is the injured party. Special Agent DiNozzo almost died!"

Duarte made a disgusted noise, pulled some papers from the leather folder he held and extended them towards Gibbs.

"I remind you, Agent Gibbs," Duarte said, "That extortion is a federal offense. As a federal agent it is your duty to prosecute said offense, not abet it."

Extortion? Gibbs thought. Another hit out of left field to go along with Rico's attitude and words. He accepted the pages hoping they'd make more sense than the conversation.

Gibbs held the papers at near arm's length to focus the print. Two of the pages held single sentence, signed receipts for cash. One was dated almost four years ago, the other two years prior. Beneath them was a three page legal document dated just two weeks before today.

"Boss?" Tony questioned.

Gibbs raised a hand to quiet Tony as he skimmed through the legalese that set forth the terms and conditions attached to a payment of three million dollars.

When done, he stared down at the familiar signature common to all three documents. His first thought at first sight of the name had been a stunned 'what the hell?'. The initial shock had turned to mounting confusion as he read. Now, he stood there confounded, trying to make sense of what he held in his hand.

The signatures were excellent forgeries. Under normal circumstances, Gibbs wouldn't have questioned them. But, they couldn't be genuine, he was sure of that. Why give them to him, what was the point? They said it was hard to prove a negative. But, three and a half million dollars, or, more specifically, the lack thereof, had to make the job a lot easier.

Gibbs looked up to see Enrico DiNozzo steadfastly glaring back at him then turned to Duarte. The attorney was almost buzzing with righteous indignation, watching for Gibbs' reaction to what he'd read. They believed the documents were genuine.

That realization stunned Gibbs, left his case against Enrico DiNozzo shattered. He began to mentally re-examine every fact and clue, reaching for a different handle on the case.

Within seconds, the answer came in a flash of insight. The papers in his hand that made no sense at all suddenly became the key element, the crux, the piece of evidence that connected and explained all the evidence collected before.

Right on the heels of that revelation, he was struck by another.

Gibbs and Enrico DiNozzo had been deceived in kind-David Delvechio had lied to them both.

* * *

**Chapter 18: Chapter 18**

* * *

To confirm what his gut already knew was true, Gibbs asked Rico a question.

"Three years ago, I tried to contact you to tell you Tony was in bad shape, probably dying. I was told you refused to speak to me and never wanted to be bothered again in any way concerning your son. Is that true, did you get the message?"

"No."

"Boss?" Tony asked, looking at the papers Gibbs held. Gibbs handed them to him. He watched Tony as he read through the documents shaking his head, his eyes widening as he skimmed the last three pages.

"I never signed these! I never asked for a dime!"

"Do you actually believe you can get away with this?" Duarte angrily asked. "Do you think you can walk away with more money and no consequences this time? If you pursue this, you will be prosecuted. It's gone way past blackmail. There's a man dead! However you managed to frame Delvechio, I guarantee you, we will exonerate him and you will pay!"

"I never got a penny," Tony said. "He tried to kill me!"

Gibbs quieted him with a squeeze to his shoulder and turned to Rico.

"You just handed it all over?" Gibbs asked. "All that money, time after time? No face to face, no phone call, no nothing?"

"He refused to speak to me."

"I never refused to speak to you," Tony said. "If you had ever called, I would have talked to you."

"You didn't insist?" Gibbs asked. "Three million dollars is an awful lot to just let go without proof."

Duarte pulled a document from the folder and handed it to Gibbs.

"There's your proof. A notarized affidavit of a fictionalized account of his mother's death. All lies. He was threatening to get the case reopened and to have his father prosecuted."

Gibbs glanced down at the pages before speaking.

"Tony never got that money; never asked for it, never blackmailed you. Delvechio set it up and kept it for himself."

"He makes that in a year," Rico said. "Besides handling billions, every year for almost twenty years. Why would he kill for three million dollars?"

"Delvechio has a gambling problem," Gibbs answered. "He made damn good money with you, but apparently not enough to cover the debts he racked up."

"He enjoys some time at the roulette table," Rico said. "So do I. That's not a problem, that's recreation. His net worth-"

"You can't pay a bookie with net worth," Gibbs interrupted. "Maybe he didn't have a problem with the legit casinos but did have one with the mob. Bookies don't care how much your mansion's worth or your stock options. If you don't come across with cash, they hurt you."

"If he'd been in trouble, he'd have come to me."

"Are you sure about that? When did you last check the books, do an independent audit of his company? You trust him, he has free rein over billions of dollars a year. Maybe he figured it would save face, be easier to borrow from the company than come to you. A few years go by and the borrowing adds up big time. Gamblers, they always think that next toss of the dice'll be the one to put them in the black. But, he ran out of time when they started the investigation. He had to get the money back, fast, before you found out."

"Del would never steal from me," Rico said. " And, he'd certainly never kill anyone."

"You put the money in an offshore account," Gibbs said. "With fake ID, or just the right codes, anybody could access it. Randall Archer lived in New York his whole life. The only time he came to DC was to take a shot at Tony. For the first time in his life, Archer's loaded with cash. Somebody paid him to take that shot. The only calls on his cell were to Paradigm and Delvechio."

"Delvechio was in DC the day Archer died. Whammed in the back of the head with a bourbon bottle, a panic hit. He died with a phone in his hand, probably threatening to call you or the cops. There's no way Tony could have been involved; he was in an ICU barely hanging on when Archer died."

Rico was shaking his head. "There's no way, you're wrong."

"After he killed Archer," Gibbs continued, "He was on the next flight to Costa Rico. Did you know that he'd left the country? When was the last time you talked to him?"

There, Gibbs thought, he'd gotten through to him. He saw it on his face. Rico and Duarte exchanged a glance then Rico turned to Tony.

He looked at Tony as if he were the evidence of an awful truth. Something like grief came over Rico's face. Mourning the surrogate son while the son who'd never betrayed him stood across from him. Gibbs silently urged the man to realize the value of what he'd neglected and discarded. To look at Tony and see Tony for what he was and stop the monumental waste he'd made of his opportunity to be his father. But, after a few seconds, Rico turned away.

Gibbs waited in the silence, giving Tony the opportunity to say anything he might want to say. But, Tony didn't speak, only stood still, his gaze on the wall opposite him. Gibbs took the papers from Tony, folded them and put them in his jacket pocket. He'd sign them in as evidence and transfer them to the FBI when they returned.

"You ready?" Gibbs asked.

Tony nodded and they left the room.

They rode in silence as the elevator began its way down. Twenty years, Gibbs thought, and, minus the drama Delvechio had created, it would have been a non event from Rico's side. No emotion, no connection, no nothing.

He realized that father and son had their cold reunion with no names exchanged, without calling each other anything at all. Never again, Gibbs thought, would he have that flash of irritation when he was addressed as 'Leroy'. It had been forty years since he'd asked the only person who still called him Leroy to call him Jethro. And, for forty years, his father had ignored the request and called him by the first name he'd given him. On the rare occasion he had to call him by name at all.

Condemning Tony's father for what he'd thrown away drove home to Gibbs all the years he'd wasted estranged from his own father. Jackson Gibbs was far from perfect. But, Jackson Gibbs had done the best he could and he had never beaten him or rejected him. His father had always wanted only the best for him and his father had loved him. Jack had loved him his whole life and he had attached so little value to that fact that he was ashamed.

He looked to Tony.

"You were right."

"Yeah," Tony said. "Yeah, I was right. My father didn't hire a hit man to kill me. For most people that would be a given, nothing to be particularly proud of. But, hey, I was right. I'll take it."

DiNozzo leaned into the elevator wall and Gibbs moved closer, worried he'd collapse. He placed a hand on Tony's shoulder.

"You okay?"

Tony shrugged the hand off.

"I'm fine. Just tired."

Gibbs stepped back and stayed silent.

* * *

Gibbs spotted the concierge's desk as they entered their hotel's lobby.

"You have a return ticket?" he asked Tony.

Tony shook his head. Gibbs had only bought a one-way because he wasn't sure how long it would take to gather and process evidence. He didn't want to speculate why Tony had left his return open ended.

"After we get you settled upstairs, I'll come back down and make arrangements."

"I can make it on my own," Tony said.

His tone was antagonistic. Gibbs debated insisting on assisting him, but decided to back off. Tony was exhausted and in pain and he didn't want to stoke his mood. If he could just make it up to the room to sleep, he'd be better equipped to deal with everything when he woke.

"Take four Motrin," Gibbs said to his back as he walked away. Tony didn't respond, just punched the button to summon the elevator.

When he returned to the room, Gibbs had expected to find Tony sprawled on the bed, out of it. Instead, he opened their room door to see him at the table, hunched down in one of the chairs, his body language that of a surly teenager. There was a glass two fingers full and the open bottle of Jack in front of him. Gibbs frowned. The shape he was in, alcohol was bad news, especially on an empty stomach.

He didn't comment but pulled a bottle of water from the honor bar, uncapped it and set it before Tony. Tony didn't look up to him but did wrap his fingers around the base of the liquor bottle. Gibbs sat in the other chair. He didn't want to start another fight between them, but he wouldn't sit by and let Tony drink, either. Surely he'd be out soon.

"You were wrong." Tony said. His tone of voice was angry, accusatory. It was long past time Tony blamed someone besides himself, Gibbs thought. If the anger was misdirected in his direction, he'd allow him some leeway today.

"Yeah, I know. I already said so. You were right."

Tony shook his head.

"Not about that, not about who shot me and why. About my father and Del. You said it wasn't real. If he had gone to him and confessed, he'd have forgiven him. That's real."

Gibbs had to admit it was a possibility. In spite of whatever dark flaw kept him from caring for Tony, his feelings for Delvechio had seemed genuine.

"He would have paid the money, millions of dollars to save Del. If he had come to him instead of running, he would've kept him. You wouldn't, though. Somebody cross you-anybody-they'd be out on their ass in a heartbeat."

Gibbs couldn't contradict him. Respect was the foundation of every friendship and trust its lifeblood. There was one person he might have forgiven anything but she had died before trust was ever tested.

"I'm not an idiot like your father," Gibbs said. " I'm a better judge of character."

Tony responded by downing what whiskey remained in his glass. Before he could reach to pour more, Gibbs took the bottle, replaced the cap and set it on the floor beside his chair.

"Instead of flying," Gibbs said, "We're going home by car and taking a detour; it'll break up the trip. A couple hours drive tomorrow'll be less time than we'd spend getting to the gate and hanging around waiting for a flight. You can stretch out and get comfortable; it'll be better for you than a plane. We'll take a couple of nights, then drive on home."

"Detour where?"

"Stillwater."

Gibbs expected Tony to be pleased and was surprised by the frown and shake of his head.

"I'll fly."

"I already told him you're coming. He likes you, he's looking forward to it. He's been bugging me to bring you up to go fishing."

"Funny you never mentioned it till now."

Gibbs realized, too late, it should have stayed unmentioned. He hadn't asked Tony because of a long standing rule that kept the job and his private life separate. That was the last explanation he wanted to offer Tony now.

"We've been busy," Gibbs said.

"Funny how you found time to go up there fishing with him a few weeks ago but never told me I'd been invited."

And, he'd spent those hours on the lake with Jackson wishing he had invited Tony along. DiNozzo might not be much of a fisherman. But, DiNozzo drank beer and ran his mouth like a champ. Which, with a pole hung over the side of the boat and maybe an optional cast or two, was his father's idea of fishing. Had Tony come along, Tony and Jack could have had a great time swapping tales and Gibbs would have had a lot better time himself.

It wouldn't appease Tony to be told he regretted not inviting him, though, so he changed the subject.

"He's baking a pecan pie for you. He remembered how much you liked it."

"I'm not going."

"Tony-"

"You know, Gibbs, I'm real happy my pathetic little drama with my father's helped you appreciate what you have and pissed on for so many years. No thanks necessary, though. You don't have to squeeze a pity party for me into your guilt trip's itinerary."

Gibbs fought his temper. Tony was wrong but he was also right. Maybe it was Tony's father that had prompted his visit to his own father. If he hadn't come so close to losing Tony, the barrier would have stayed up, he wouldn't be taking him to Stillwater. True, he was taking him there hoping it would help him. But, wanting to help wasn't pity.

"You're the one throwing the pity party, DiNozzo. You wanna go crawl in a corner feeling sorry for yourself, fine. But, don't blame it on me. I'm asking you to come because I want you to come."

"Why?"

There was an angry challenge in his voice. But, underneath that Gibbs heard the honest question of why he'd be wanted now when no one had ever wanted him before.

Just because he did, Gibbs thought. Because Tony was hurting and it would do him good. Because sitting at his bedside, yet again, as he lay near death was a wake up call he wouldn't ignore this time. He'd wasted too much time keeping parts of himself and his life locked away in separate compartments. Tony was part of the job but he was also a part of his personal life. A big part.

Tony would never have a father and Gibbs had lost his only child. Neither of them would ever have what they wished for. But what Ducky had called their rough approximation was close enough, as close as either of them would ever get in this lifetime.

"Because you're family." Gibbs said.

Tony glared at him. He raised his chin as if he would argue the point, clinging to his anger. Then, he looked away before dropping to rest his head on his good arm on the table, his eyes against his shirt sleeve. After a minute, he spoke.

"I'm really tired, Boss."

"Yeah, Tony. I know."

Gibbs went to the bed to pull down the covers. He came back to tap Tony on the shoulder.

"Come on," he said reaching under Tony's good arm to help him up. Gibbs supported him to the bed and down onto it. Once Tony was settled, Gibbs pulled off his shoes and drew the covers up over him. He finished up with a pat to Tony's shoulder. Tony reached up to take and grasp Gibbs' hand for a second before letting go, murmuring as he fell asleep.

"Thanks, Boss."


End file.
